Feels Like Home
by ArmedWithMyComputer
Summary: 'Rick tried not to think about what Carol would assume when she saw a child with them, and how her hopes would be shattered when it wasn't Sophia.' He was just a crying, vulnerable kid that they found out in the woods. But when Rick takes the child back to camp, a heartfelt reunion will bring out a completely new side in one of the group - one that no one could have seen coming.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys :) This is just a new fic that I'm playing around with… I hope you guys like it!_

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It was, quite simply, a miracle that they found them.

Rick had been about to shoot the staggering figure that was rustling through the woods just ahead of them, Shane right beside him with his gun raised. But then the figure turned into two, one of them significantly smaller than the other, and the tiny body tripped and fell, bursting into tears.

He had seen a lot of things, in the past week, but Rick didn't think that he had ever seen a walker trip, and then cry about it.

He lowered his gun just as the two spotted them. "Hey, is that someone? Oh thank God, oh God, hello? Is that someone?" The desperation and relief in the woman's voice couldn't be unheard, and Rick glanced at Shane, who also reluctantly lowered his gun.

Then the woman burst through the final wall of foliage that had been partly concealing them, and Rick had to stifle a gasp. She was dressed in clothes that had been almost torn to pieces, her hair so messy and tangled that Rick imagined that it would take hours to get it looking acceptable again, and blood stained her left side. Instinctively, he and Shane took a step back, wary of bloody strangers in this new and dangerous world that had happened upon them all so fast.

"You bit?" Shane grunted, and after a moment, she nodded.

The effect was instantaneous, both men raising their shotguns and handguns before Rick could draw in another breath.

But instead of attacking them or trying to defend herself like they had anticipated, she dropped to her knees, pushing the small figure out in front of her with a scream, "No, no don't shoot, not yet! He's not bit! He's not bit!" The 'he' that she was referring to was a skinny scrap of a child, one that Rick guessed to be about five or thereabouts, and he shrank back against her at the sight of the loaded weapons pointed in his face. She shoved him firmly away from her, and said, "You have to take him. Take him with you, back to your group, or just with you! Please… He's not bit, and I… Please, you have to take him."

The boy had fallen onto his hands and knees with the strength of the second push, and he looked up at Rick with expressionless eyes. Tears were dried on his face, smeared with dirt and sweat, but there didn't seem to be any blood on him.

Shane kneeled down slowly, and looked the kid up and down, while Rick kept his eyes and gun trained on the woman. She had started to cry softly.

"Are you bitten anywhere, little man? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head, hands still braced against the ground. Rick nodded sharply at Shane when he glanced back at him, but when Shane offered the kid a hand to get up, he only stared. Then he looked back at the woman they had found him with, tears streaming down her face, and she shook her head.

"You have to go with them. These men will look after you, look, one of them is a police officer." Shane had his POLICE cap on, and Rick tried to smile reassuringly at the kid when he lifted his head to gaze at him, but the child still didn't look convinced.

His heart aching at the sadness of the situation, Rick nodded again, and said, "It's okay, we aren't going to hurt you. See the guy there, that's Shane. He's my best friend, and I'm a cop just like him. We have a group of people waiting for us back at a big farm house, where there's lots of food, and horses, and we take care of each other there… We'll look after you for your mom."

"Oh, no, he's not my son," The woman said, just as the kid took Shane's hand and let him lift him gently off the ground, "I found him wandering around lost a few weeks ago. He's a good boy though, you won't have no trouble… I just, oh thank God you were here. I didn't—I didn't know what I was going to do if I hadn't found someone. I thought that I was going to have to…" She started to sob harder at this, and held her arms out, "Come here, and give me one last hug."

Shane's hand tightened around the boy's shoulders at this, and he and Rick shared a glance. Then Rick looked down at the sobbing woman on the ground, who was going to die, and at the child that she was going to leave behind. He nodded, and the kid ran towards the woman who had protected him.

He stood there quietly as she threw her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. Then, after a few minutes, she pushed him away, and tried to wipe her tears off her dirty face. Shane squeezed the kid's shoulders in what he meant as a comforting gesture as the boy returned to his side.

Then the woman took out a small handgun, and smiled up with watery eyes at Rick. "One bullet," She whispered, her eyes flickering over to the boy's, and then Rick understood.

She had been going to shoot the kid if she hadn't found anyone to look after him, had been going to save him from the horror of being savaged by her when she eventually turned, and became a walker. It was a horrifying prospect, and Rick felt a rush of relief that they had come this way on their search for Sophia.

He nodded wordlessly at her, not knowing what words that he could say, "We… We'll take care of him."

The woman raised the gun to her head, "Thank you," The words were broken and hollow, and she looked right into the boy's eyes. Shane was trying to turn him away, not wanting him to witness what was about to happen, but he held his ground, and stared silently at her.

Then she pulled the trigger, and her life ended in a splatter of blood.

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Rick stood in horror for a second, staring at the corpse of a woman that he'd only known for a minute or two. It scared him how quickly the whole thing had happened.

The he turned back to the small boy, whose eyes were fixated on her body, and knelt down. "Hey, uh, kid, my name is Rick," He suddenly realised that he had no idea what the child's name was. Or what the woman had been called. He felt sick to the stomach, "My name is Rick, and that there's Shane… What's your name?"

The boy didn't respond, staring at the body for a few more moments, before he turned away, and looked over at Shane. They both then saw how painfully thin he was, and Shane bent down as well. "How about we head back to our farm, and get you something to eat, huh?" Shane got a nod in return, and he gave the boy a smile, "Okay then. Why don't you climb up on my back then, little man?"

Silent, the kid clambered onto Shane's back, locking his arms around his neck. He seemed to smile slightly when Shane stood up and he saw how tall he was, but that was gone in an instant.

Rick sighed. "Let's get back then."

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The child was quiet for the whole duration of the journey back, resting his chin against Shane's shoulder as they trudged through the woods.

Rick had offered to let Shane bring the boy back to the farm, and stay out looking for Sophia, but after a few short sentences were exchanged, it was clear that the idea was a non-runner. If any walkers came upon Shane and the child, it would be more difficult for Shane to aim his gun with the boy on his back, and the noise might attract more. Rick walked ahead of them, knife in his hand, as he lead them back the way that they'd come.

He tried not to think about what Carol would think when she saw a child with them, and how her hopes would be shattered.

When they reached the fringe of the woods, and the farmhouse came into view, the boy let out a gasp. Rick smiled at that, knowing first-hand how impressive and beautiful the farmhouse looked from the harshness of the woods.

"Here we are," He said softly, and watched as the boy seemed to retreat inside himself again, the small smile slipping off his face.

There was no one outside when they reached their campsite, and Shane let the boy down. He glanced around nervously, as if expecting a walker to jump out at him, so Rick said, "There's no walkers here. You're safe now."

It didn't seem to reassure him that much though, and he continued to stick close to them, eyes narrowed in anticipation of anything. Rick ducked his head into his tent, to find Lori and Carl both reading. "There's something that you need to see. We found a little boy out in the woods, and, well, it's a long story." He explained, and Lori looked up, confused. "Maybe if you stay in here for the moment, Carl. I don't want to spook him."

When he and Lori stepped out of the tent, Carol had appeared, and she was bending down to talk softly to the kid. He was regarding her silently though, through hooded eyes, pressed as close to Shane as he could get without touching him.

"Hey, sweetie," Lori knelt down next to Carol, and smiled, "Are you okay?" She got a small nod at that, though it looked hesitant, as though the boy didn't know if he was okay or not. Maybe his definition of okay had changed a lot in the past few weeks, "Are you hurt anywhere?" He shook his head, "That's good. Why don't you come over here with us, and we'll get you something to eat, okay? Are you hungry?" At the mention of food, he glanced up from where he had been staring at the ground, and Carol laughed softly.

"Come on, honey, I'll get you some food," Carol led the boy off, offering a hand for him to hold onto. He regarded her hand warily, and instead followed her at a slight distance.

Lori turned to Rick, and let out a breath. "He's so young, Rick. Where did you find him?"

He pulled her in for an embrace, and then explained what had happened, his wife gasping openly and putting a hand over his mouth as he spoke. "… So we brought him back here. There was no way that we could have left him out there."

"Oh God, the poor boy…" Lori cast another despairing look over at the child, who was crouched in the dirt a few feet away from Carol, seemingly unwilling to move any closer to her. Rick could see that the woman was still talking to him, holding out various cans of food, but it seemed to be of no avail.

"He hasn't spoken yet. We don't even know his name."

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A few hours later, and the kid was still hunched over on the ground, not speaking. The plate of food that Carol had made up for him was sitting on the ground in front of him, untouched. Rick had watched him stare at the meal for a few minutes, only blinking at Lori when she tried to coax him to eat, before tracing patterns in the dust.

Hershel had come out to see the boy, confirming to Rick that he didn't know him, and had attempted to examine the small child for injuries. When he had tried to get close though, the boy had scrambled back, eyes wide and dark, and the man had paused. Instead, he had just looked the boy over, proving Rick right in his assumption that the boy was too thin for his age, and that he was most likely dehydrated after being in the forest for an unknown amount of time.

They had left a big bottle of water next to his plate of food, and a tall glass of orange juice that had come from the house. Maggie had added a twisty straw in the hope that it might make the beverage more appealing to the child.

No dice, though.

Eventually, Carol had shooed away everyone who had gathered close to see the reclusive boy. She, Lori, and Rick had remained by the campfire, scattered around, but not too close to the boy. Shane, Andrea, and Dale had retreated to the RV, Hershel and his family had gone back to the house, and Glenn was in the middle of what looked like a deep conversation with Maggie out of earshot.

Rick conversed with his wife quietly, while Carol read her book, glancing up at the boy every few minutes. He seemed to be engrossed in his little dirt patterns though.

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"Walker!" Andrea screamed from the top of RV, where she had been keeping watch. "Walker!"

Rick leapt up, grabbing his handgun and glancing over at the child. He had frozen in his drawing, and when Rick looked closer, his hand was shaking where it was hanging in the air over the ground. "Lori," He said quietly, and she looked up, immediately knowing what he meant. She went slowly over to where he was crouched, and knelt down beside him.

As he ran towards the fields, Rick could hear her gentle reassurances fading away. Shane was on his heels, doing some kind of loping run because of his ankle, and Glenn and T-Dog weren't far behind. They all carried various weapons in their hands, ready to do what had to be done. To protect the camp.

But when he got closer and stopped, the walker halted too, seeming to stare at Rick through the layers of blood, dirt, and sweat that covered it. There was a large bloodstain on its left side, something dragging behind it, and Rick raised his gun, levelled straight at its head. The walker lifted its head, and seemed to sneer at him. Rick's finger itched to pull the trigger, but something stopped him. "Is that… Daryl?" Someone behind him breathed, and the suddenly he saw it.

"That's the third time you've pointed that thing at my head. You goin' to pull the trigger, or what?"

Rick lowered the weapon in relief, and let out laugh. The others around them relaxed, and chuckled. For a moment, everything was fine.

Then a shot rang out, loud and clear, and all five of them ducked instinctively. The second that Rick was sure that he wasn't hit, he whirled around, knowing the shot had come from the house, and waved his arms around.

"No!" He yelled as loud as he could, "NO!"

Around him, the others were staring to raise their heads, from where they had ducked on the ground with their hands over their heads. Shane was the next up, waving to the group back at the campsite to stop. "What the hell?" Glenn cried as he picked himself off the ground where he had dived upon hearing the gunshot.

"Daryl, you okay, man?"

It was T-Dogs question that got all of their attention though. The man was kneeling in the grass, looking as though he might keel over onto his face at any moment. Rick scanned him for bullet wounds or any new bloodstains as he dropped down beside him, but then he realised how big the bloodstain was on Daryl's left side, and he cursed himself silently for not realising how injured Daryl could be.

"You bit?" Shane asked roughly as he knelt down beside him as well, trying to get a better look at the wound on his side, "You bit, man?" Daryl raised his eyes up to meet Shane, eyes that were trying to mask all the hurt and pain that was trying to shine through, and shook his head.

"Wouldn't come back if I were bit," He ground out, and that seemed to be enough for Shane.

Shane's large hands tried to pry away the material that was covered in blood, attempting to get a better look at Daryl's wound, but the other man let out a grunt of pain, and tried to push him away, "Fell down a fuckin' ridge. Got impaled on one'a my arrows. Pulled th'fuckin' thing out, but still hurts like a bitch..."

Glenn winced in sympathy, but Rick wasted no time, "We've got to get you to Hershel. Now." Trying to be as gentle as possible, he and Shane lifted the man up by his arms, and slung one of each of their shoulder. Daryl tried to protest, but the words had no sting, and Rick simple ignored him, staring to walk along briskly.

For a few metres, Daryl tried to walk, but he couldn't keep up with their pace, and eventually just gave up. His feet dragged along on the ground limply, and his head hung forward.

Rick exchanged a look with Shane, and they quickened their pace.

.

Andrea met them halfway, and was almost in tears when she saw the lifeless looking figure of Daryl. "Oh God, he's dead… Oh God, I killed him! Oh God—"

"He's not dead," Rick said sharply, "And you didn't shoot him, he got injured in the woods. We have to get him to Hershel."

"You can't shoot fer shit, blondie," Daryl drawled weakly, and he even managed to bark out a laugh. But then the harsh and painful laughter turned into a groan, and he went quiet again. Andrea looked up at Rick with tearful eyes, but he could give her no assurances.

When they had nearly reached the house, a convey of sorts was following, and Hershel could be seen storming out of his house, "What on earth is going on here?" He boomed, Maggie and Beth right on his heels. Even Jimmy could be seen in the backround, looking on anxiously. No one really knew what was going on.

Rick glanced over to Lori, who was standing with the boy over at the campfire, looking scared and worried. She was holding the small boy back with both hands braced on his shoulders, Carl hovering nervously beside them.

Then they came closer, and the kid suddenly screamed. He bucked Lori off with all his weight, and started to barrel towards Rick, Daryl, and Shane with all his speed.

"Daryl!"

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Daryl just managed to look up as the child collided with him, and suddenly he was pulling his arms free of Rick and Shane, and reaching down to embrace the kid. Then he was falling to his knees, the child enclosed in his arms, his head buried in Daryl's dirty neck.

In front of everyone watching in pure shock, Daryl lurched forward onto the ground, still holding the boy tightly.

The kid was crying.

Rick even thought that he saw Daryl crying, but he couldn't get a proper glimpse of his face, as it was hidden in the kid's mop of hair.

"Fuck, kid… Oh God, fuck, I thought I'd lost you…" Daryl was mumbling as he hugged the child with all his might. Then he was trying to sit up, pushing back the boy's hair so he could get a better look at his face, and he was pushing the kid back to try and get a good look at him, "Fuck… Thank God… You have no idea how much I… Fuck…"

Then Rick crouched down to them, his face one of total amazement, the boy scrambling back into Daryl's arms as Rick came closer. "Daryl… What—How do you know this kid? Is he your…?"

Everyone was thinking the same thing. Did Daryl have a kid that he hadn't told anyone about? Daryl fucking Dixon… a father?

His voice was thin with poorly veiled pain when he spoke, but the elation was plain, "S'my nephew, Dean. He's, uh, Merle's kid." Daryl looked away from Rick when he said his brother's name, and Rick felt a stab of guilt. He had left this kid without a father, in the middle of a damn apocalypse.

Just as Rick was about to say something, an apology maybe, Dean knocked his arm against Daryl's side, and the man let out an agony filled moan, which he quickly tried to stifle.

At this, Hershel came right over to the two on the ground, took one look at Daryl, and said, "We need to get you in the house immediately." Rick paused for a moment, intending to leave some time for Daryl to complain a bit, and then help him up, but no protests came.

_He must be really hurt_.

The boy, Dean, started to cry again when Shane and Rick heaved Daryl upright, and Lori came running up to hold him back from where he was trying to cling to Daryl's leg. Daryl seemed to have drifted off into some sort of lethargic state, but he still struggled to lift his head, "Kid stays with me," He slurred, "Dean, you stick close t'me, y'hear?"

Dean nodded, and managed to squeeze into the small space between Shane and Daryl. He then hung one finger out of Daryl's belt loop on his trousers, and rested his head against Daryl's side. It was possibly the cutest, and the saddest thing that Rick seen in a while.

The child had no one else left.

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They got Daryl onto the bed in the spare room as quick as they could, earning a groan of pain from Daryl, whose face was getting paler by the second, his jaw clenched shut. He still managed, in his pain filled state, to pat the space to the right of him on the bed, "Dean," The boy clambered up on bed, and curled himself into a ball, snuggled up against Daryl's right shoulder, "You stay there, y'hear, an' don't be makin' a disturbance of yerself."

Rick had to smile when Dean nodded, and pressed his head into Daryl's shoulder. His small body relaxed completely for the first time since Rick had known him, and his wide blue eyes were free of wariness and fear as they drifted closed.

Then Hershel was cutting off Daryl's undershirt, and they were all gaping at the blood and dirt encrusted wound that greeted their eyes. Hershel's first order of business was to get a basin of water and roughly scrub the dirt away from the wound. This looked like it was pure agony, and Daryl bit down on his lip, squeezing his eyes closed.

Dean sensed his uncle's distress, and opened his eyes, to see blood flowing out of the garish wound once again, as Hershel hardened his face and worked to get the dirt off Daryl. His eyes then flickered up to Daryl's scowl of pain, and he let out a small whimper, his lower lip wobbling. At this, Daryl opened his eyes, a stoic mask slamming into place, and he reached up with his free right hand, his left fisted into a knuckle breaking grip on the sheets underneath him, and coughed out a laugh.

"Yer gonna havta get clean too, Dean, so don't think that I can't see that layer of dirt over ya." Dean sniffed, and gave his uncle a watery smile, "Don't cry, Dean. I wanna see ya be brave. Remember what I told ya? Dixons never cry."

Daryl's eyes stared into the young boy's, and for a moment, Rick felt like he was intruding upon something special.

Then Dean sprang up into a sitting position, and started to talk, "I 'member, Daryl. An' I told it ta Sarah, th' lady that found me in the woods, a coupla weeks ago. I said, 'Dixons don't cry,' cause it's true, but she said that it was okay to cry sometimes, but I said no, cause we don't cry, do we, uncle Daryl? Cause we're tough, an' nothin' scares you, does it? I told Sarah that, and she said that everyone's scared 'a somethin', but I said no, cause everyone else is just'a pussy, and then—"

Shane let out a snort of laughter at the language coming from the kid's mouth, and Hershel paused in his task of flushing the wound, to glare at Daryl. The boy paused, and looked at Daryl, confused as to why everyone had reacted to his story.

"S'okay, Dean," Daryl grunted, looking over at Rick, who was trying his hardest not to smile. "I don't even understand these damn people most'a the time."

The kid giggled at that, but then he frowned, and sobered, "Daryl, where's my daddy? Is he here too? Cause you two always are together, an' I haven't seen him in ages, an' I miss him. Even if he doesn't really like me sometimes. But I still wanna see him."

"First things first, kid, Merle loves ya. I know he's a tough bastard sometimes, but he does love ya, y'hear? Jus' like I do," Dean nodded, reaching down to hug Daryl again, before sitting back up patiently, "Now, here's the thing. A few weeks ago, me an' your daddy got separated, an' I don't know where he is." The boy's eyes were filling with tears, but he scrubbed them furiously away, and tried to put on a brave face, "But if I know yer daddy, an' I do, kid, he's fine. We jus' gotta find him again, an' then everything's gonna be fine again, y'hear?"

"But… if you don't know where he is, how're we gonna find him?"

Daryl let out a hiss of pain then, turning his head to glare at Hershel, "Ow, son of a bitch! Take it easy there, old man, I don't need ya tearing my whole fucking side off now."

"I'm sewing you back up, so keep still," Hershel chastised, and did another stitch.

Seeming to restrain himself from giving a retort back to Hershel, Daryl looked back at Daryl, "I've been lookin', kid. But Merle's a crafty bastard, an' he's probably tryin' ta find us too, so it won't be too long, okay? An' if it is a long time till we see him, then that'll be fine too, cause we'll have each other. You with me?"

Dean nodded, and lay down beside Daryl again, his small fingers tracing random patterns on his uncle's arm. "Uncle Daryl?" He got a grunt in response, "Are we gonna be okay here? Cause… Sarah said that we were safe in the woods, but then a bad person got her, an' then—" The boy stopped abruptly, and grabbed Daryl's forearm tightly, "An' then— an' then I gave her a hug, but then she—There was a—she took out the gun that I had taken from my house, and—"

Even though he hadn't been there, or been told the story, Rick knew that Daryl could guess what had happened next.

"D'ya trust me, Dean." The kid nodded furiously, looking insulted that Daryl would even ask such a question, "Well ya know that I'm not gonna let anythin' happen to ya. I gotcha now, and I ain't never gon' let anythin' hurt ya. S'you and me now, kid."

.

Dean went quiet after that, and seemed content to just curl up on the bed, one hand clutching Daryl's arm tightly.

Just as Hershel finished with the wound on Daryl's torso, Lori knocked on the door softly, "I was just wondering if Dean needed anything?" Hearing the words, Dean shook his head, and pressed it into Daryl's neck, so Lori spoke directly to Daryl, "He hasn't eaten anything since Rick and Shane brought him back, and he hasn't had anything to drink either. We've tried to get him to have something, and Hershel tried to have a look at him, but he wouldn't let anyone near him."

"That true?" Dean shrugged under the weight of Daryl's gruff question, and muttered a _maybe_. Daryl took another look at the boy, and then frowned, "Yer covered in dirt, kid… D'ya think… Could you maybe get him inta the shower or somethin'?" He asked Lori hesitantly.

"Of course, that's no problem. We've been using the downstairs shower, so I can take him in there… and then we can get him some food afterwards. Does that sound okay, sweetie?"

Dean looked wary and cautious, but Daryl gave him a little push off the bed, "Go on, kid. I'll be right here, I'm not movin' anywhere till you get back. That there's Lori, she has a kid too, called Carl, an' she'll look after ya. I promise. You go get clean, an' have a drink, an' I'll see ya in a few minutes, okay?"

Lori beamed as she held out her hand, and Dean hesitantly took it, after a long look back at Daryl, and a sharp nod from him. "C'mon, honey, its just this way."

"You be good for Lori, now," Daryl called after him, "I want ya ta be nice ta her, and answer her if she asks ya a question!"

Then the door was closed, and he sighed loudly, letting his head thump back on the pillow in exhaustion. Hershel taped a large piece of gauze over his side, and then moved up to the top of the bed to examine Daryl's head wound.

"You're very good with him," Rick remarked, and Daryl smiled wearily.

"Thanks. He's Merle's kid, from a few years ago. He's five. His Ma lived in town closest to me, so I'd take him down ta my house sometimes, though it wasn't much of a place to be honest. Merle was around a few times when the kid was stayin' with me. He was mostly high. Or wasted."

Daryl went quiet for a few moments then, while Hershel started to clean out the gash in his hairline. "And the mother?" Shane asked, from where he was sitting down a few feet away from the bed.

Considering the question, Daryl shrugged, "Waitress in th' local titty bar, I think. Dunno. Her and Merle had a thing anyway. It was on and off for months, but th' kid came, and that was that… She was an alcoholic, but at least she had the sense ta drop th' kid on my doorstep before she went off on a bender. Once, I came back from huntin' ta find a two year old sittin' on my porch in his car seat."

Then Hershel ordered him to stop moving while he put some paper stitches in the cut, and Daryl quietened again. "What happened to his mother then? When everything… happened." Rick asked, feeling shock well up in his at this new side of Daryl Dixon that was spilling out.

"Dunno. Th' first thing that I did, when things went bad, was go ta their house, but it was empty. Neighbours all dead, car in the driveway, coupla walkers around, th' usual. I stayed fer as long as I could, but then I had ta go find Merle. I'll ask him later, I guess. Th' important thing is that he's with me now. I ain't gon' lose him again."

Rick nodded, trying to absorb this whole new person that seemed to be appearing in front of his eyes. Somehow, when he pictured Daryl before the world ended, he would never had put him with a kid. Let alone being the supportive and caring uncle, that appeared to have half raised the child. He wasn't surprised by Merle in the story, but he felt a pang of guilt when he realised how wrong that he had been about Daryl. They still had conversations when they talked about who they had lost, but when Rick thought about it, he could never remember Daryl being included in them.

In fact, he had a memory of being camped around the fire in the farm, talking about friends and parents and siblings only a few nights ago. Carol had been in the RV, crying. Daryl had sat slightly away from them all, but close enough to the fire that he wouldn't be chilled and so that he could hear, while they had the sobering conversation. If Rick remembered right, Daryl had stood up abruptly in the middle of it, and stalked off to his tent.

No one had thought anything of it. But now Rick realised that he had probably still been grieving for Dean.

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_So, was that okay? I'm not sure where I'm going with this yet (or if anyone will like it), so any feedback would be greatly appreciated :) If you guys like this, I'll try and have the next chapter up by next weekend, at the latest, but it kinda depends on what you all think! Hopefully you all thought this was okay._

_(Oh, and for anyone whose reading my other TWD fic, Too Late for Hallelujah I'm working on the next chapter, so apologies for the wait!) _

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading, _

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey everyone :) Thank you so much for all the reviews for the first chapter, I loved all of them, and really appreciated every one! Apologies for the week-long wait, but I hope you all like this chapter…_

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Rick watched as Daryl lay on the bed, squirming slightly as Hershel wrapped gauze around his head, "Fuck, old man, I think that's enough, yer gonna use th' whole fuckin' roll of that stuff on me if ya keep goin' like that. Ya might need it later."

"Well, you need it now, Daryl. You have quite a traumatic head injury, and I'm being serious when I tell you that you won't be able to strain yourself for at least a few days, especially with that wound in your side. No alcohol, heavy lifting, or anything that might cause you to get worse, do you understand?" Daryl only rolled his eyes at that, and used his hands to push himself up into a sitting position, despite the look of pain that crossed his face, "Where do you think you're going?"

Daryl looked up in slight confusion from where he was swinging his legs over the side of the bed, "The hell does it look like I'm doin'? 'm goin' back ta get Dean an' go back ta my tent."

"I think that it would be best if you stayed in this room for a few days, so I can keep an eye on you, and you can rest up and heal," Hershel said carefully, but seeing Daryl's scornful look turning towards the older man, Rick stepped forward quickly.

"Think about Dean, Daryl. I'm sure that he'd like to sleep in a real bed, if only for a few days. Plus, Hershel says that he's malnourished and dehydrated, so it's for the best if he stays in the house. At least for a little while until he settles in."

There was a moment of silence while Daryl considered their points, until he finally scowled in frustration, "Fine. But not fer long, jus' till Dean's okay," He lifted his chin up at Hershel, "Ya said he was malnourished and dehydrated? That all?"

Rick smiled slightly when he saw the look that came into Daryl's eyes when he was talking about Dean. It was one that he had never seen in the other man, a kind of spark that made it clear for everyone to see just how much he loved the little boy, despite his gruff tone. He found himself amazed at how much more depth he was seeing in Daryl in just an hour or so, and then felt a spark of regret when he wondered why he had never tried to look deeper before.

"He wouldn't let me get near enough to examine him. I can take a look at him when he gets back, with your permission?"

Daryl snorted, "That's my Dean, he's a wary little fucker. I'd appreciate it though, if ya would take a look at him. Make sure he's okay. I—" Then something happened that Rick never thought was possible. Daryl's voice caught in his throat, and he faltered, "I thought that I'd lost him. I thought—" He lifted a bloody hand, and scrubbed it across his eyes before continuing, "Thank ya, Rick, fer bringin' him back. I can't thank ya enough fer that."

All Rick could do was nod slowly, and wonder who was this version of Daryl sitting before him.

.

Then Dean burst into the room, dressed in what looked like a pair of Carl's old jeans, and a t-shirt that Rick had never seen before. The clothes, being slightly too big for him, just made the fact of how skinny he was even more evident.

Dean was clean though, his hair still damp from the shower, and he wasted no time in clambering up onto the bed beside Daryl, who ruffled his hair with as much of a smile that a Daryl Dixon could do, "I had a shower, Daryl, with real fuckin' hot water an' everythin'! An' I got new clothes, an' Lori says that she has books an' maybe we can read them later cause I know you like readin' me stories, an' there's a kitchen an' everything! An' it's got food in it, but I said that you might be hungry, so I came ta get you for lunch, but Lori said that you might not be hungry, but I said that you always were, cause yer Daryl, and that's what you like ta do, an'—"

"Hold on, kid," His uncle interrupted him, "I want Hershel ta have a look at ya, make sure yer okay, an' not hurt anywhere, okay?"

"But—" Dean faltered under Daryl's stare, "Fine, but then we havta go inta the kitchen, cause there's no eatin' in the bedroom, remember you told me that?"

Daryl tugged off Dean's shirt, and shifted his body so that he was sitting behind him, "I remember, Dean. After this, we can go an' get as much food as ya want, okay?" Then he leaned down closer, and whispered loudly, "I might even be able ta find some chocolate in my tent fer ya if yer good."

The child's eyes went wide, and he froze, transfixed by the suggestion of chocolate. Daryl only winked at him when he craned his neck around to stare at him, and pointed back to Hershel, who was smiling, much like the rest of them. "Pay attention ta Hershel now."

"Okay, Dean, can you lift both your arms up for me?" Hershel carefully felt around Dean's skinny torso, where his ribs were visible to see, and then told him to take deep breaths as he pulled out his stethoscope. Dean wriggled away from the cold instrument, much like Rick had seen Carl do a hundred times at the doctor's office, but Daryl placed his hands on his shoulders, and held him in place, "That's very good, Dean, now, can you tell me where you got this mark from?"

Rick watched as Daryl frowned as Hershel pointed to a nasty looking scar that cut across his lower stomach, "We don't need ta talk about that now, Hershel," He warned in a low voice.

Dean however, paid no heed to his uncle, "That was _ages_ ago, when mommy had her friend Steve over, an' he started ta… an'… he… but then Daryl came over, an' I got ta stay in his house for a week, an' I even got ta name his dog that he got! An' then when mommy took me home, Steve was gone, and then Daryl brought Woody over, an' we brought him for a walk, remember Daryl?"

"I remember, kid," Daryl smiled down at Dean, but there was a dangerous glint of long past anger in his eyes, when he lifted them up to meet Rick's, "You done here, Hershel, so I can go feed this kid? We've gotta get yer muscles back, Dean."

"I have plenty 'a muscles!" To demonstrate, Dean lifted his arm up, and tensed every muscle in his body with all his strength, straining to see a bump in his bicep, "Can… you… see… it… yet?" His words were strained with the amount of effort that he was putting in.

Lori covered her mouth slightly to hide her smile, while Daryl squinted his eyes and leaned in closer, "I think I do see somethin' there, Dean. Ya been weighliftin' out in that woods without me?"

The laugh that burst from the child's mouth was high pitched, and full of a type of happiness that had been lacking around the camp in recent weeks.

"Don't be dumb, Daryl! There's no weights in the woods… c'mon let's go get some lunch, cause I'm so hungry that I could just even maybe eat anythin' that I saw! C'mon, c'mon…" Dean slipped out of his uncle's hold and onto the floor, tugging at his arm, "Daryl, hurry up!"

Rick winced at the look that passed over Daryl's face at the mere thought of moving, his too pale face contorting for a split second before he smoothed it over again, and reached out to put a hand on Dean's shoulder. The kid flinched noticeably, but didn't say anything, staring up at him with calculating eyes that retained just a hint of sparkle, "How about you and Lori go get something to eat, while me and your uncle have a little talk. He's real tired as well, so why don't you wait till dinner to eat with him?"

"You're a cop, right?" Dean asked with narrowed eyes, biting his lip when Rick nodded, in slight confusion, "You're not gonna arrest him, are ya? Cause he's my favourite uncle, an' I only jus' found him, and you brought me back, an' I don't want him to go away again—I wanna stay with Daryl. So you're goin' ta havta arrest me too…"

The words rushed out of Dean in a scared flood, and he clung tightly to Daryl, who was shaking his head lethargically, "Ain't no one goin' ta take me away from ya, ya hear? Yer with me now, kid, and I won't let anyone take ya away. Are we clear on that?" Dean nodded solemnly, and hugged his uncle, squeezing him tight, and making Daryl open his mouth slightly in silent agony, "Okay, now I want ya to go get food wit' Lori, an' then ya can come back, okay?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, turning around to look at Lori through wary eyes, before nodding, "Okay… But then I think I might havta get inta bed with you, cause I'm really tired… an' I know how you like ta tell me stories when I sleep over, so I'll let ya tell me some more when I get back. Just cause you like it so much."

Then Dean was gesturing to Lori, skirting around her carefully so as not to brush against her, and leading her towards the kitchen, asking loudly if there was any more juice.

.

"Do ya really have somethin' ta say ta me, or can I get a coupla minutes of shut eye, before Hurricane Dean comes this way again?"

Rick laughed, and shook his head, while Daryl let himself relax slightly against the headboard of the bed, in a slightly reclined position. He looked like shit, pale and sweaty, expression tight to conceal pain, and like he was going to pass out.

"Go to sleep, Daryl, I'll keep an eye on him, try and keep him occupied for as long as possible." Then he and Hershel started to make their way quietly out of the room, as Daryl's eyes slipped shut, and his body went limp with exhaustion.

But just as Rick was closing the door he heard, "Fuck, can't… believe I… fuckin' found him…"

.

Carol stood in the kitchen, quietly preparing some food for lunch, and let herself smile for a moment as she heard Dean running down the hall.

He skidded to a halt in front of her, words rushing from his mouth too fast for Carol to even have a chance to decipher, but she nodded and bent down to him, "What would you like to eat, honey? We have eggs, fruit, meat, but I'll try to find anything that you want… You must be hungry."

Dean froze in his speech for a moment, to stare behind her at the small mound of food that was collected on the countertop, enough to feed the entire group. She watched silently as his eyes scanned over the vegetables Hershel and his family had found on a farm nearby, on the eggs that the chickens provided, the tall pitchers of water she's just filled up, the stack of apples, and go still. His right hand quivered slightly by his side.

"What do you want, Dean? You must be hungry."

"Can I—" He bit his lip, and scuffed his ragged sneaker against the ground, looking almost the image of Daryl, "Would it be okay if I, um, miss…"

She longed to gather him into a hug, but knew from his skittish and guarded behaviour only a few hours ago that that would be the worst thing she could do, "You can call me Carol, Dean. It's okay, just tell me what you want to eat."

"Can I… can I have all of it?" Dean finally managed to get the words out, glancing behind Carol again with a desperate glint in his eyes, "Jus' cause I'm so hungry, an' we didn't have any food left, an' then the bad man came an' we had ta run for ages in the woods, an' Daryl told me ta be careful wit' new people so I was cause he told me an' I didn't eat the food you gave me, but Daryl's here an' my tummy really hurts an' I don't know what I want cause I want it all, an'—"

Carol smiled sadly at him, nodding her head and listening intently while Dean rambled on, the kid looking like he was about to burst into tears, "Of course you can, sweetie, you can eat as much as you want of it all, don't worry. You're safe here. You're safe, I promise."

As she said the words, Carol suddenly thought, _no one is safe. Rick said we were safe after the CDC, but he left Sophia in the woods, and she's missing, and my poor daughter is probably starving right now. No one is safe, we're never safe, and Sophia could be—_

Just before she could finish the thought, Dean let out a panicked whimper and took a step towards her and the food, "Please miss Carol, can I please have some now, I'll be good, I swear, please can I have some?"

She snapped out of her thoughts which were spiralling down, realising that she had been still for a minute or two, and immediately turned around to pick up a shiny apple, holding it out to him, "Why don't you have this for starters, Dean?" He reached over to take it from her, his eyes as wide as if she had just handed him a million dollars. "Okay, sweetie, you go sit down at the table, and I'll bring the rest of the food over, okay?"

Dean sat down at the table, beside Rick, and Carol turned around to get the rest of the food. But she found herself pausing in her task, and tears forming in her eyes. _Sophia_. Carol put a hand over his mouth, and fought to keep herself from letting out a sob, the hurt and emotion welling up in her and getting ready to explode out.

Then she felt Lori's hand at her back, and the other woman pulled her into a hug, "Are you okay, Carol? I can look after Dean if you want to go get some air or something."

"No. no, I'm okay," Taking deep breaths, Carol could almost feel herself believing it, "I just needed a moment. I need to keep busy. I can't— I can't think about S-Sophia right now… Are we still cooking dinner for Hershel and the others?"

"Yes, I think so. Hershel hasn't said anything to me about a change of plan. Maybe we can introduce Dean to the rest of the group then..?"

Carol glanced back at the table, where Dean was eating his apple in record speed, taking quick and precise bites while looking carefully at Rick, as if he was afraid that the other man would take the food off him, "Will he be ready?" It was only Rick, Carol, and Lori who were eating lunch in the kitchen, to be sure not to spook Dean even more, and she wasn't convinced that the small boy would be able to handle dinner with over a dozen people.

But then Carol looked again, and saw Dean swinging his feet back and forth as they dangled above the ground, and heard his quiet laughter at something Rick must have said, and reconsidered.

Maybe Dean could recover from his ordeal quicker. After all, he had Daryl Dixon as an uncle, who had clearly given the child that spark of defensiveness and wariness that seemed to have kept him going this far. Maybe his innocence would spare him from the worst of the horrors of this world.

Lori and she carried a few plates of food over to the table, and a large glass of water for Dean, which he beamed at, and reached for with sticky hands. He started to gulp it down, only pausing when Hershel called in from where he had appeared in the doorway.

"Drink slowly, Dean! I don't want you to get sick because you drank too quickly, and don't stuff yourself with food either, there'll be plenty more to eat later as well."

Dean shrank back a bit in his chair as he put the half empty glass back down on the table, eyeing the small plate of scrambled eggs that Carol had made for herself. She watched his inner turmoil for a moment, before pushing the plate towards him, and watched as Rick handed him a knife.

"Thank you, miss Carol," He said, flicking his gaze up to hers for a moment, before he fixed in on the table.

"No problem, Dean," Carol replied, "And you can just call me Carol if you want, there's no need for the miss in front of it."

He looked up at her with a grin that was bordering on cheeky, his confidence seeming to have bounced back, "Thank you, Carol."

And then Carol felt herself giving him a big smile, while an overwhelming feeling of affection and love rose up inside her. But those feelings were tinted with sadness and worry, and regret. No matter how much she may grow to love this child, he wasn't hers, and he wasn't Sophia.

As much as she hated herself for thinking it, it was true.

How she wished that it had been Sophia that Shane and Rick had returned with. The ache in her heart suddenly got stronger, and Carol stood up quickly, pushing her chair back with a squeak on the wooden floors. Dean looked up at her, confused and suddenly wary again, but she just couldn't.

"I have to go," Carol whispered, and then she hurried out of the room, as tears dripped down her cheeks.

.

Rick frowned as Carol ran out of the room, and exchanged a glance with his wife.

"I'm sorry." The words were quiet, and followed by the sound of a plate being pushed along the table. Dean chewed nervously at his thumb when Rick looked at him, and fidgeted, "I'm sorry I made her leave. I didn't mean ta."

Lori reacted first, and moved seats so that she was sitting next to Dean, moving slowly as not to frighten him, "You didn't make her leave, Dean, don't worry. Carol is… she's sad because she's missing her little girl, Sophia. It was nothing to do with you, I promise."

The child cocked his head slightly, eyes calculating, "Missing… like I was missing from Daryl? Like that?"

They both nodded, and Dean looked down at his hands. They were covered in small scratches, something Rick hadn't noticed before. Dean hadn't mentioned anything about them though, despite the fact that they looked painful.

"But you'll find her, won't ya? Like you found me an' brought me back ta Daryl. Cause yer a cop, an' that's what cops do, isn't it? An' you have a gun, an' get cats out a' trees, an' help people, an'…" Dean suddenly trailed away, and frowned, "My daddy said that I wasn't supposed ta like cops. He said that you were all jus' fuckin'—"

"Well, you can like me if you want," Rick cut Dean off before he could go into detail, "Because I'm Daryl's friend, and because, well, you don't have to think everything that your daddy does." Even just thinking about Merle made something twist inside of Rick, because of the fact that he had effectively left this kid's father to rot somewhere on a roof. The guilt had faded with the weeks that had passed, but it was hitting him again, full force.

Dean didn't seem to notice how guilty he was feeling though, as he took another gulp of water, "That's what Daryl used ta say too. I wonder how Daryl is now, maybe I'll go in an' say hi ta him, cause I missed him lots when I was with Sarah, an' I didn't even know where he was cause I didn't know where anyone was, an' Sarah wouldn't let me go ta look fer him when she found me, an' I really missed him, so I think I'll jus' go back ta his room now, an' see if he has some chocolate like he said."

"Wait, Dean!"

Rick tried to say, but the boy had already grabbed another apple, slipped off his chair, and was halfway to the door, "No, I gotta go see Daryl."

.

By the time Rick caught up with him, Dean was already in the room, Daryl out cold on the bed.

He hung back in the doorway, unsure of what he could do to make sure that Daryl got more rest, knowing that Dean was extremely unlikely to go with him right now. But instead of Dean disturbing his uncle and waking him, like Rick assumed he was, he simply giggled, and clambered up on the bed.

Dean wiggled under the half of the blanket that Daryl wasn't lying on, and snugged up to his non-injured side. Daryl shifted slightly, and his arm curled around Dean in his sleep, the kid closing his eyes contently as he rested his head on his uncle's arm.

"I missed you, Daryl. I really missed you a lot."

.

That evening, the whole group traipsed into the house, all looking semi-presentable, and the dining room was soon full of laughter and conversation. Rick slipped away to see if Dean wanted to come and eat with them, Shane coming with him, though he was unsure of how the boy would react to the group.

But when they quietly opened the door to Daryl and Dean's room, both men raised their eyebrows in shock at the sight of Dean helping Daryl into a clean shirt.

"Hey, little man, what's going on?" Shane asked, giving Dean a huge smile as he turned around to them.

Dean smiled back at him, before saying, in a matter of fact tone, "We're getting' ready for dinner, Shane, can't you see that? We can hear everyone getting' ready ta eat, an' I'm starvin' again!"

Rick looked up at Daryl, who was looking slightly strained, "Are you sure that this is a good idea?" Daryl grunted, and swung his legs slowly over the edge of the bed, glancing down at Dean as he chattered away to a bemused looking Shane.

"Kid says he wants ta go ta dinner, but that he won't go without me. So I guess we're goin' ta fuckin' dinner then."

He tried to stand then, pushing himself off the bed with his whole body tensed, and nearly fell as his knees buckled. Rick stepped forward quickly though, and caught hold of his arm, keeping him upright until Shane moved to his other side, and they were both supporting him. "Daryl…"

"Don't say anythin', Grimes. Jus' help me inta the fuckin' kitchen an' then I'll be fine."

Dean was staring at his uncle carefully, but brightened again when Daryl nodded at him, and gestured for Dean to open the door. "I'll go get us seats at the table!" He yelled, racing out of the room, while Daryl painstakingly followed him, each step seeming to pain him even as Rick tried to support him as much as possible.

When they finally reached the dining room, and Daryl's breathing was starting to evolve into wheezing, Dean was hovering by the wall, clearly waiting for Daryl to get there. All the conversation had quietened, but Rick suspected that they were trying to keep talking so that Dean didn't feel like everyone was staring at him, while Lori tried to coax him into a chair.

"Ya gon' sit down or what, Dean?"

All the members of the group looked up in surprise when Daryl called out roughly to his nephew, who seemed to light up again, and nodded furiously, "I am so! Was jus' waiting for you ta get here, that's all."

Shane left to sit down in his own chair, beside Andrea, while Rick helped Daryl to lower down into a chair beside Carol and a trembling Dean. He was shaking with excitement as he stared at all the food, and started to quickly explain each and every combination of food to a pale looking Daryl, and tell him how good it all looked.

The conversation picked up quickly, and dinner progressed, punctuated by laughs and good humoured stories about their lives before the end of the world had happened. Rick noticed that Dean seemed chuffed that he was the only kid who wasn't at the 'kids table', and he saw him pointing it out to Daryl, who only barked out a laugh, and ruffled Dean's hair.

Throughout the whole meal, Daryl ate nothing, just sat stiffly against the wooden chair and sipped water, but he always had a smile for Dean, who had scooted his chair as near to his as he could. Hershel was keeping an eye on Daryl as well, Rick saw, and they met each other's eyes a few times.

Despite Dean being reluctant to speak to anyone but Daryl, Rick, Shane, and Lori, and the fact that Carol didn't even glance at the little boy once even though he looked towards her a few times at the beginning of the dinner, everything went well. The food was delicious, the company great, and it was clear that everyone was having a great time.

_This is perfect_, Rick thought as he heard Dean's laughter, and T-Dog complimenting the women on their cooking skills loudly.

He didn't think about all the times that Dean flinched away from someone, or the way that Carol refused to acknowledge the kid, or how Shane seemed impatient, or the looks that Hershel seemed to be giving Maggie and Glenn.

Because there would always be tomorrow to deal with all those problems.

But tonight, they were together, and they were happy.

.

_So, I hope that you all liked that :) I know I modified the dinner scene slightly to make them a bit happier, but I felt that the laughter and good feelings were needed! I'd love to hear what you guys thought about this, and I'll try my hardest to get the next chapter up as quick as possible :) Feedback helps a lot._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey guys, here's the next chapter :) Thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter, and I hope you guys enjoy this one!_

.

The evening spent at Hershel's house passed in a sort of blur for Rick.

It ended far too quickly, though it was well dark by the time he had helped Daryl back to his room, and the rest of the group had piled out the door, and retreated to their tents.

He was woken up the next day by the sound of laughter outside his tent, his son's laugh, something that he hadn't heard in far too long. Lori was still sleeping, so he carefully got out of bed to avoid waking her, and stuck his head outside.

Carl was laughing at the sight of Dean, trying to do a handstand. The little boy was giggling, as he tried to stand on his hands, never getting close before he tumbled back down to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Rick watched, smiling, noticing that Carl didn't seem to be favouring his side too much, while he encouraged Dean, "You nearly had it that time!"

That, to be honest, was a lie. Dean was nowhere close to achieving full handstand status.

"I know cause I used ta practice loads at home," Dean replied breathlessly, before attempting again. This time he ended up crashing to the ground again, hitting his head hard, "Ow, fuck!" He rubbed at his temple with a scowl, "Son of a bitch!"

Rick couldn't supress his laugh at the language that erupted out of the five year old, stepping fully out of the tent to smile at the two kids.

He noticed that Dean scrambling back a few feet from him, and the grin on his face vanished. Carl seemed oblivious to this though, and gave Rick a smile, waving him over, "Dad look, Dean's trying to do a handstand, and doing a _great_ job at it." Carl emphasised the _great_, clearly being sarcastic, but the younger boy didn't seem to notice it. "Show him, Dean."

Dean picked himself off the ground, glancing down at his muddy hands, before wiping them on his jeans. He looked up at Rick, his expression wary and confused, as if he didn't really know how he was supposed to feel about Rick.

As if he didn't know yet if Rick would hurt him or not.

"Bet _you_ can't do a handstand," Dean finally muttered to him, narrowing his eyes, and scuffing his sneaker against the dirt.

He shrugged, "Probably not. I haven't thought about doing handstands in over thirty years… will I give it a go?" Carl's eyes lit up at his father's words, and he nodded his head enthusiastically, while Dean simply tilted his head in mild curiosity.

For a fleeting moment, Rick wondered what the hell he was doing, considering doing a handstand on the hard ground in front of his kid and Daryl's skittish nephew at such an early hour in the morning, but then he looked at Carl again, and saw a look of happiness that he hadn't seen in the past few weeks. There was no one else around, it was the end of the world, and hell if he couldn't have some good old fashioned fun with the two boys, both of them looking eagerly at him.

"Have you ever even done a handstand, dad?"

"No way," Dean scoffed, "He ain't gon' be able ta do it." The boy took a step closer out of curiosity, still staying behind Carl though.

Rick winked at them, and then started to shake his arms, breathing deeply, and getting prepared. Carl laughed, and he had to hide his smile, pretending to be all serious about getting ready to embarrass himself. Rick was just glad that no one was going to witness what he was about to do.

"Okay… On three, boys. Count me down."

"One! Two! Three!" They both chimed loudly, eye wide.

Then Rick took a deep breath, and stepped forward with one foot, leaning forward, and letting himself tip towards the ground. His hands planted onto the dirt, small twigs digging into his palms, and then suddenly his legs were up in the air, and he was swaying like crazy.

After a second or two, the moment ended, and he began to crumble sideways onto the ground, the sound of the two boys laughing ringing in his ears. Rick was smiling even as he ended up in a mess of limbs on the cold ground, and he started laughing himself as his son rushed him, and jumped onto him as he was lying on the ground.

It was a moment like they hadn't had for weeks, and Rick started to mock wrestle Carl on the ground, his son squirming as he pinned him to the ground and started to tickle him. But then Carl let out a battle cry, and wriggled out of his hold, managing to get on top of his back, and put his arms around Rick's neck in a mock choke hold while he dangled off him. They rolled around for a few more minutes, the only noises their breathing and the sound of Carl laughing.

Rick looked up briefly to see Dean watching them quietly.

There was a look of something in his eyes, something that looked like loss, jealousy, and sadness all mixed into one. The little boy just stood there, chewing at his thumb, and looking.

Then he turned around, and started walking back towards the house, still with his thumb half in his mouth, hair tousled and sticking up everywhere. Rick watched him go, helpless to say anything because he had no words to offer the child.

Carl looked after Dean with confusion, as the young boy walked away.

.

"Dad, go after him," Carl said softly, when Dean had nearly reached the house, "What's wrong with him?"

Rick signed, and sat up properly on the ground, rubbing a hand over his stubble, "Maybe he misses his father."

"But… Daryl's like his dad. And Merle was his real dad, but he can't have been a good one, because, well, it's Merle. And he was always so mean. And it's _Merle_. Why would anyone want him to be their dad?" His son looked up at him with a frown on his face, and Rick could only sigh.

"Carl, we… we don't know what kind of person Merle is. I certainly don't, and I'm sure that you don't know either." Trying to explain the fact that they didn't know really the kind of person Merle Dixon was, or the type of father he was, was slowly twisting a white hot knife of guilt into Rick's heart. "For all we know, Merle might have been a great dad."

He had left him there. Left some man who he'd only known for two minutes cuffed up on a rooftop to _die_. Forced him to cut off his own hand.

Then Rick stood up, feeling as though he might throw up, and pulled Carl easily up with one hand, "I'm going in to see if Dean's okay. How about you go back to the tent, and I'll be back soon, okay? When everyone else is up, we can organise a search for Sophia, and find something for you to do too. That sound good?"

His son nodded up at him, rubbing a hand over his eyes due to the brightness of the morning, and the fact that it was still early. "Okay."

Rick didn't move until he had made sure that Carl had slipped inside their tent, then turning and starting to walk towards the house. He hoped that Hershel wouldn't mind him quietly checking on Dean, that is, if the kid hadn't already woken everyone in the house up. He certainly had enough energy.

But the house was quiet as Rick pushed open the door, so he tried to keep his footsteps light on his way to Daryl's room. The door was ajar slightly, so he knocked softly on it, waiting until he heard Daryl grunt before he stuck his head inside the room.

What he saw took his breath away.

.

Daryl was leaning against the headboard of the bed, looking like he had just been woken up, hair mussed and sticking out everywhere.

Dean was sobbing.

The boy was clutching tightly onto his uncle, both arms wrapped around him as he cried into the material of Daryl's shirt. His sobs were quiet, shoulders shaking, and his words were coming out in little gasps.

"I d-don't understand, D-Daryl! I just—" Dean pressed his face into Daryl's neck as he spoke, "W-why doesn't my daddy—I don't know—We never play together, or, or—An' I don't know w-where he is, but—he's m-my daddy, an'—"

Rick bit his lip, thinking that his heart surely was breaking. Dean kept crying, and Daryl kept hugging him and rubbing his back, as he raised an eyebrow at him. Daryl glared at him in confusion and anger, even while he held Dean closer to him, only a shadow of pain on his face as the little boy tried to get even closer to him, and ended up kneeing him in the side.

The moment was heart-breaking, horrible, and too intimate for Rick to be looking in on.

So he nodded an apology to Daryl, who narrowed his eyes, making it clear that they were going to be having words about whatever this was later, and then silently backed out of the room. He closed the door behind him as quietly as he could, not wanting anyone else to walk in on them.

But then something made him pause for a minute, his back pressed against the door, and listen.

"Hey, hey, kid, c'mere, look at me now. You're okay, you're okay. Merle loves ya, y'hear? I know that he ain't like other dads, but that don't change th' fact that he does care about ya." Daryl spoke softer and gentler than Rick had ever heard him speak before, though that same slightly element of roughness that was pure _Daryl_ remained. "I know that he does, for a fact. He jus' has a hard time sayin' it sometimes. An' ya know who else loves ya?"

Dean sniffled desolately, "Who?"

"I do, kid. Yer mine, an' yer with me now. We're together, an' I ain't gonna let anythin' split us up. An' when we find that' other little girl, Sophia, we're gon' go find yer daddy, okay? He's probably out there lookin' fer you and me right now, so when we find him, we'll all be together, y'hear?" Daryl sighed for a moment, and then said in a tired voice, "I know that things seem hard, kid, but its gonna get better."

"Do y'promise?"

There was a moment of silence, Rick listening intently, even though he knew that he shouldn't be. Just… this was a totally new side of the man that he'd known for weeks, and it just kept surprising him. Then there was more sniffing and hiccups, before Daryl spoke again.

"Couse I promise, kid. Now, can we go back ta sleep? It's still too fuckin' earyl ta be awake."

Bed springs creaked then, and the sounds of Dean snuggling back down on the bed, "Okay, fine. But then we havta get up and do stuff," Daryl only grunted, sounding half asleep already, "Daryl?"

"What is it, kid?"

Dean sounded perfectly content as he let out a yawn, "I love you too."

.

There was an emptiness in Rick that he couldn't quite place until he got back to his own tent, and lay down beside Lori.

Carl was asleep, seemingly tired after his early morning excursions, sprawled out on his cot, mouth open and snoring slightly. Lori shifted slightly as Rick wrapped his arms around her, and got settled on their cot, but she didn't wake.

Rick looked at his family for a moment, before closing his eyes, and promising to himself that he would never let himself become a father like Merle Dixon. What little he had heard of him from Daryl, had made it sound like Merle didn't give a crap about his son, and he had just witnessed the sobbing fears of a little boy that his father didn't love him.

No, Rick would never let himself become that.

.

He slept in late, waking when the sun was fully up in the sky, his tent empty, and the campsite filled with voices.

Rick stretched as much as he could in the family sized camping tent that had become his home, and changed his shirt with a yawn, before stepping outside. He felt refreshed and sufficiently ready to face the day, despite the handstand fiasco earlier that morning.

He hadn't been expecting to see Daryl Dixon sitting in a foldout chair beside fire eating eggs though.

"Daryl? What are you doing out here? I thought you were staying inside the house for a few days…" Rick asked as he walked over to the man, noticing the scowl that was fixed on his face. Daryl looked up at him, a plate of powdered eggs looking almost untouched on his plate, and jerked his chin for Rick to sit down.

"Don't like it in that house," He muttered, as Rick sat down beside him, "Anyway, Dean was getting' bored in there, and it ain't his place ta be annoyin' the old man, an' his family." He saw the worried look Rick was giving him, and rolled his eyes, "An' I'm fine. S'jus' a scratch. The bolt didn't hit anythin' important, so it's fine."

Knowing the he wasn't going to win that battle, Rick simply nodded, "Hey, listen, about this morning—"

"Don't worry about it. Kid told me ya were jus' messin' around with Carl. He jus' misses Merle, an' doesn't understand. Plus, he jus' needs ta get used ta everyone, cause you idiots are a lot more like a family than anyone else he's known. S'gonna take time."

Then Dean came running up, gasping for air as he skidded to a halt, and their conversation was effectively over.

He was clutching a knife carefully, and gave it to Daryl, "There. I got it fer ya. It was under yer blanket, jus' like you said. But there ain't gonna be enough room fer me in your tent, Daryl, cause there's only one blanket, an' no pillow!"

Daryl chuckled, and handed the knife back to his nephew, to Rick's shock, "S'okay, Dean, we'll make room, okay? Now, you remember how I was tellin' ya earlier?"

"Yeah! That if I havta get the bad guys, then I havta get them in the head, that's what you said, wasn't it? Cause I was listenin' cause you said that it was important, didn't you, Daryl, didn't you? An' I always listen ta the important stuff, don't I?"

Setting the plate down on the ground, Daryl stood up with a wince, "Yeah, Dean, you do. Now, ya havta be quiet so I can teach ya. Head on over there."

Rick caught Daryl by the arm as he went to follow his nephew, and hissed, "What the hell are you doing, Daryl? You can't just give a kid a knife! What's going on?"

Daryl pulled his arm out of Rick's grip with a growl, "I'm going to teach my nephew how ta protect himself! Jus' cause you lot are a bunch of idiots with guns, that make _noise_, doesn't mean that I can't teach my kid how ta defend himself properly. This ain't none of yer business, Rick."

By this point, the rest of the group was looking up, and some gasping at the sight of Dean holding the knife and waiting patiently for Daryl.

Daryl tried to take another step forward, but Rick reached out and grabbed him around his bicep again.

.

"What the fuck is your problem, Grimes?"

Rick opened his mouth, and then shut it again, because he had no words, but somehow this just seemed so _wrong_.

Daryl yanked his arm away, and shoved Rick, though it lacked strength, and sent him stumbling back, "What? How is this any of your business, Rick?"

Then Dale came scurrying over, and everything went downhill from there. "I think what Rick is trying to say, son, is that the moral image of a young boy being given a _weapon_, in a place full of people who are able to protect him is—"

"Stay out of this, old man. You lot don't know nothin', so jus' leave us be, and keep yer complainin' ta yerself." Daryl scowled, and turned his back, only to have Dale place a gentle hand on his shoulder, making him whirl around, furious. Anger flared in his eyes.

The tension rose, as the rest of the group gathered around closer, most faces looks shocked and disapproving. "I think Dixon's right," T-Dog called out, from the back of the group, stepping forward.

Daryl only rolled his eyes.

"This is a _child_ we are talking about," Dale said in an indignant voice, "All I'm saying is let him have a childhood, instead of turning him into a soldier at this age."

"Well, it's the end of the world, why not? It isn't like it's going to get much different than this!"

Andrea cut in, "Yeah, things aren't how they used to be, Dale. This is it. Things will never be the same, so why can't the kid learn how to defend himself?"

"This is madness!" Lori screamed shrilly, "He's only five, and already someone has put a deadly weapon in his hands. Rick, do something please, this is ridiculous. Someone just take the knife away from him, look how scared he looks already."

All eyes turned to Dean, who was holding onto the knife with white knuckles, biting his lip with an expression of barely concealed fear on his face, clearly terrified. Most likely from the raised voices, Rick realised. Dean took a step back, and tripped over a tree root, falling onto his backside with a squeak. Glenn went to help him up, being the closest to the boy, but Dean only widened his eyes, and scrambled back a few feet, hands trembling, and knife held tightly to his chest. His skinny chest was heaving with silent breaths.

Daryl took one look at him, and barked out, "Dean, with me."

The boy sprang up to his feet, and ran towards his uncle, lip trembling with emotion. Daryl grunted with pain as he bent down slightly, and picked the boy up, Dean burying his head into Daryl's shoulder, "See what you've all done now," He spat out, taking the knife from Dean carefully.

Then he threw the weapon, the knife angling perfectly in the air to bury itself into a tree five feet away. Rick's mouth dropped open slightly at the precision and skill of the throw, and he stared for a moment in silence at the hilt sticking out of the tree bark.

"That was all I was gon' teach him," Daryl said roughly, before limping off to his tent. "That so bad?"

.

Rick sat by the fire for an hour, keeping an eye on Daryl's tent, but neither him nor Dean came out.

The others all hovered for a while as well, guilt heavy on all of them, regardless of what 'side' of the argument they had been on, but no one dared to actually go and check on the two. So they all skirted around the camp, doing meaningless jobs, and watching the tent that was set up on the outskirts of the camp.

Finally, when Shane came back from doing a full perimeter sweep, Rick forced himself to go look for Sophia. He told Shane where he was going, gun and knife on him, and winced when his friend asked why everyone was so tense, "Okay, man, but seriously what's up with everyone? Something happen while I was gone?"

He half explained the situation, as simply as he could, before taking the map from Shane, and heading out.

Rick walked for hours, trying to cover as much ground as he could, consulting the map to ensure that he wouldn't get lost. He kept his knife drawn at all times, but he didn't need it once.

The woods were empty of walkers, and seeming empty of Sophia.

A squirrel ran past him at one point, and for a moment, Rick found himself thinking that it Daryl had been there, he would have been able to kill the creature, and bring back fresh meat for dinner. Then he thought that he might be able to catch it, but within another half a second, the creature was gone.

After being gone for as long as he could bear, he had to turn back, calling out for Sophia one last time.

There was no reply, except for the rustling of leaves in the slight breeze.

.

When he trudged back into camp, feeling downhearted, Carol burst out of the RV.

She froze, staring at him, standing alone, and he shook his head. She didn't say a word, only reaching up to wipe a tear that had slid down her cheek away. Rick let the guilt wash over him as she retreated back into the Winnebago, and shut the door, without saying a word.

Then he looked up to see Lori watching him from across the camp, and she gave him a sympathetic gaze. No matter how many times she tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, he wouldn't believe it._ If it had been Carl who had…_

Rick couldn't bear to finish the thought.

He heard the sound of a quiet laugh, and felt a small burst of relief when he saw Dean, sitting cross-legged beside Daryl. The boy was playing with Daryl's arrows, digging the points into the ground to make some sort of structure, while Daryl sharpened one of the bolts.

"Daryl, I am so sorry, I was way out of line," Rick blurted out when he got close enough for the other man to hear. The only thing he got in return was a scowl, so he continued, "I'm sorry for the way that the scene escalated, and I hope that you can forgive me."

"It's not me ya should be apologisin' ta."

Rick looked down at Dean, who had frozen in his task, and was staring at the ground, eyes wide. He knelt down slowly, "Dean? I'm sorry about earlier. I'm sorry if I scared you. We didn't mean to, I promise. Are you okay now?"

Dean licked his lips, still holding one of the arrows, and said quietly, "I ain't scared. Cause I don't get scared. Like Daryl. He an' my daddy are never scared, so I ain't scared either, Rick. But it's okay."

It was the first time that Dean had called him by his name, and it made Rick grin, "Okay, buddy. You're certainly braver than I am, anyway. And you'll be even tougher when your uncle is finished teaching you to use that knife, I'm sure."

The little boy beamed with pride, and he looked up anxiously to make sure that Daryl had heard what Rick had just said. Daryl only ruffled his hair, from where he was sitting on one of the fold up chairs, and nodded towards Rick. "Thanks."

And then Rick left them alone, sitting on the edge of camp together, both heads bowed and brows furrowed in concentration.

Both perfectly happy to be alone with each other.

.

_So, I hope this was okay :) I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who has added this to their alerts and favourites, because I really appreciate it, but I would absolutely love to hear some feedback from you guys. I really struggled with this chapter, because I could see how many people were waiting for the next chapter, but I didn't know what parts you liked, or what you guys wanted to see more of, ect. So, just a little tip for if you want me to update this faster for the next chapter!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey guys :) Thanks for the reviews from the last chapter! I loved them all… Hope you all enjoy the next chapter!_

.

Daryl's voice was rough as he said, "Leave me be, woman, this ain't none of yer business."

"No, Daryl, please don't go, please, Daryl, please don't go yet!" Dean's voice burst out just as Rick rounded the corner to see Daryl, Dean, and Carol having what seemed like a heated discussion. The five year old was clinging to his uncle's leg, looking near tears, and Carol seemed to be about to start crying as well.

"What's going on here?"

Dean turned towards Rick, still not letting go of Daryl, and wailed, "Don't make him go, please don't, I don't want him to go! Carol says he's not better yet, an' there's bad people in the woods, an' I'm not allowed ta go with him—please, Rick!"

Rick held up his hands in a sort of defence, and raised his eyebrows at Daryl, who replied gruffly, "I'm goin' ta look fer Sophia again. It ain't a big deal, Grimes, no need fer you ta get involved."

"You aren't better yet," Carol threw her hands up in frustration, and shook her head, "You aren't, Daryl Dixon, and don't try to lie to me. You're just going to go out there and get even more hurt than you already are, and then this group will be missing two people!" This seemed to be the final straw for Dean, and he let out a wail.

Daryl gave Carol a filthy look, bending down to pick up a now sobbing Dean. He grunted in pain as he lifted the light boy, and Rick noticed that his body was more tense than normal, probably from trying to downplay the pain his wound was causing him.

He decided to throw in his opinion, "Daryl… I really think that you should wait another day or two as well. We've got a search rota going on, and we can afford to have you rest up and get better. Your health is important too."

The other man only scowled at him, rubbing Dean's back while he cried, "Dean, Dean, c'mon, kid, calm down. There ain't no need fer tears, y'hear?"

"I jus'—I jus' don't want you ta get lost too, Daryl. You only jus' found me, an' I know yer side hurts cause you still have a bandage on it, an' Carol said that yer not gonna come back if you go out, an'—an' I really don't want you ta get lost!"

A pained look came over Daryl's face, as he held Dean back for a moment, to properly look at him, "Dean, you know I havta go out an' look fer that other little girl, Sophia, remember? We talked about this, an' I explained that she's still lost out there. I havta find her, like Rick found you_. I will come back fer you_. I ain't never gon' leave ya alone again, Dean, but I need ta go out fer a little bit, and look fer this girl, okay? Do ya understand me, kid?"

Dean bit his lip, sniffing away the last of his tears, and nodded slowly, "Only if you promise that yer gonna come back."

"I promise."

.

"This is still a bad idea," Rick said carefully, once Dean had been sent off to get an apple for Daryl to take out with him. The child was really just given the task to get him out of the way though. The tears had still been drying on his cheeks when he had bolted off towards the house.

Daryl scowled at him, "Don't matter if it's a bad idea or not, s'happening."

"Daryl, _please_," Carol begged him as he started stomping over towards the stables, "Please just take a moment to think about this, you're not healed enough yet!" He continued to ignore her as they entered the barn, grabbing a bridle from where it had been hanging up on the wall.

It was only when Carol placed a shaking hand on his shoulder, that he acknowledged her, "It don't matter how healed I am or not, woman! That's yer little girl out there, an' I intend on findin' her as soon as I can."

He then tried to lift a saddle up, cursing when his body betrayed him by letting out a moan, and Carol frowned, looking like this was the last straw for her.

"Daryl, please… we… we don't even know if we're going to find her."

This made him pause, and he stiffened just as he was about to open the stable door. Rick watched carefully, not wanting to say anything, just observing the intense glare that Daryl was giving Carol. Finally, after a few long beats of silence, he spoke, "_What_?"

Tears had started to slip down her cheeks, but Carol stood her ground, and said, "I can't let you go out there, Daryl, I can't let you risk yourself like that. You have Dean now, you have to think of him now, and if that means waiting until you're better to search for S-Sophia, then that's how things are going to go. Please, Daryl, don't make this any harder on me. Just wait another day."

Daryl didn't move, gripping the saddle tightly, while he stared at the woman. His face was tight and red with anger and supressed emotion, and Rick could see how difficult it was for him not to just tell her to get lost. It was clear to see that Carol had hit the right spot with Daryl, mentioning Dean and his responsibility to the boy.

At last, he pushed past her, muttering, "I'm goin' out tomorrow. Ain't no one gon' stop me." Then Daryl threw the saddle away from him, gasping and clutching his side from the movement, but throwing out a hand to keep Rick and Carol away, "Stupid bitch."

.

Carol pressed a hand to her mouth, and did her best to keep the tears from falling after Daryl stormed away from them, her shoulders shaking. Rick put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, saying, "He didn't mean it, Carol, he's just overwhelmed."

"I know," She said in a broken voice, "I know. He would have gone out there today, and nearly killed himself trying to get Sophia back. But—but I can't let him do that. He's got Dean now, and… it's not fair to ask him to risk himself for her. For me."

Then she took a deep breath, and pursed her lips, getting herself under control. Carol nodded once to Rick, and then took careful precise steps out of the stable.

Rick stayed until she was out of sight, and then sighed, picking up the saddle and bridle, placing them back where Daryl had grabbed them from.

The sun hit him as he walked out of the stable block, and he wondered briefly if Sophia could see the same sun, or if she was… if she couldn't see the sun anymore. The heat burned him as he watched Dean run up to Daryl and hug him tightly when he realised that his uncle wasn't leaving.

God, he hoped they would find Sophia.

.

When Rick returned to the rest of the group, he could see that Daryl hadn't stomped off like he would have assumed, but was instead sitting only a metre or two away from the rest of the group. Dean was sitting on the ground, leaning against Daryl's legs, and drawing a picture with great detail, from what Rick could see.

Maggie was laughing nearby with Glenn, having come out of the house to offer Dean some sheets of paper and crayons, and then gotten roped into a game of cards.

Rick frowned when he got closer, it looked like they were playing…poker. He laughed out loud when he finally approached them, and saw the worn decks of cards, and the stones that they were using instead of chips. T-Dog, Maggie, Glenn, and Andrea were all involved in the game, though it looked like T-Dog was winning by quite a substantial amount.

"Rick, you in?" Glenn called out when he noticed him, and moved slightly so there was more space for Rick to sit if he wanted, "Winner gets the last few pieces of chocolate that everyone chipped in…"

Andrea let out a yell as Rick started to nod, "You have to have something to bring to the table though!"

He paused for a moment, and then shook his head, knowing that Lori would kill him if he gambled away the last three pieces of Reece's that he knew she had hidden in her bag. "I guess I'm out then." He was met with disappointing sighs, T-Dog looking particularly sad at the missed opportunity to win Rick out of his chocolate.

There was silence for a moment, and then a gruff voice called out, "There room fer one more in that game?"

All eyes turned to Daryl, who seemed to be making new arrows out of sturdy looking sticks, gripping his knife in one hand. Dean looked up as well, smiling widely, before returning to his colouring, tongue sticking out in concentration.

"If you think you can handle it, Dixon," T-Dog replied with a goofy grin. "It might be nice to actually have some competition, that is, if you actually had poker out in those woods of yours."

To Rick's surprise, Daryl only grinned, and stood up out of the chair, dragging it closer with only a slight wince. Dean followed him, one hand grabbing onto Daryl's shirt, and the other clutching his paper and crayons. "Dean, go to our tent, and get the stash." The boy's eyes went wide, and he dropped the paper, "Yeah, kid, bring it out here… we're gon' win big."

Daryl dropped back into his chair with a grunt, and gave T-Dog a dangerous grin, which the other man quickly returned. This could turn out to be a pretty serious game, Rick realised with a smile of his own.

He bent down to pick up the picture that Dean had dropped, and looked at it carefully. It was a drawing of two people, one big and one small, holding hands with each other. They were drawn in childish style, much like Carl's pictures used to be, and it was impossible not to smile when looking at it. There were also trees drawn in the background, and what Rick guessed was Daryl's crossbow in the corner, a mess of lines and lines that looked as if they might be arrows.

Rick handed it to Daryl, and he paused in his scrutiny of the rest of the poker players to give a grin. The lines around his eyes faded slightly, and his face was fixed on this expression that Rick had seen several times since Dean had come into the camp.

Then the moment was over as the boy came running back, two chocolate bars and a half a bag of chocolate drops in his arms. The others all started cheering when they saw the goods, the possibility of winning the now golden jackpot putting them all in a good mood.

"Thanks kid," Daryl winked at him, and took the chocolate from Dean, placing it on a small table next to everyone where the rest of the chocolate was. The meagre pile had turned into a mountain of glorious chocolate within seconds, due to the addition of a new player. Rick looked around, and could see Andrea and Glenn almost salivating over the junk food.

T-Dog flashed a huge smile, and started to shuffle the cards with ease, "Let's get this started then!"

Rick watched for a moment, as their faces went serious, and the cards were dealt. He glanced back as he headed towards his tent, to see Dean tucked up at his uncle's feet like he had been minutes before, a new sheet of paper being turned into a child's masterpiece. The boy had a huge smile on his face, and he kept sneaking looks over towards the chocolate.

Rick had a feeling that Daryl was a lot better at poker than anyone else could ever imagine.

.

He was interrupted in the middle of his conversation with Dale by the sounds of loud moans and desolate groans, "No! I can't believe it!"

"There's no way!"

"No!"

From the shouts coming from where the poker game had been going on, Rick guessed that a winner had been decided. He excused himself from Dale, and hurried over, excited to see who had come out on top, and won the colossal jackpot, that was way too good to be true in this world.

He turned the corner around Glenn's tent to see Dean laughing loudly, and holding a stack of chocolate bars in his arms, while Daryl smiled at him, and popped a chocolate piece into his mouth, T-Dog almost on the ground in sadness. From the look on T-Dog's face, he had never expected to lose the game.

There had to be at least a dozen chocolate bars there, and Rick felt a pang of jealousy ignite in him. The last few supply runs had turned up nothing of the sweet kind, so everyone had been savouring their last morsels of chocolate, saving them for as long as they could. He started to applaud, a twinkle in his eyes, as T-Dog glared at him, and Andrea looked like she was about to burst into tears at the loss of her Kit Kat bar.

Dean took a bow at Rick's clapping, and giggled when Daryl scooped him up into his arms. Then Daryl winked at Dean, and took a few chocolate bars out of his tight grasp. He tossed one to each member of the group, rolling his eyes at the yells of thankfulness that erupted out of the four other players.

"C'mon, Dean, let's go have an early lunch, kiddo." Daryl said then, and headed off towards his tent, Dean's arms full of their winning goods.

.

Rick didn't see Daryl and Dean until dinner that evening, when everyone had gathered around the fire to eat.

The squirrel that Daryl had caught was roasting on the fire, along with some rabbits that he had snared, and Rick had to admit that it actually smelled pretty good. He would have never imagined himself saying that a few months ago, but these days; Rick rather looked forward to squirrel dinners.

"I'm hungry, I'm hungry!" Dean yelled excitedly, as he ran ahead of Daryl, running around the campfire several times, his eyes bright as he waved his arms around, "Daryl, I'm hungry!"

Daryl let out a hoarse laugh, sitting down in a chair beside T-Dog, "Don't know how, kid. Ya ate like three chocolate bars already today." He nodded his thanks to Carol as she handed him a glass of water.

"He's probably on a sugar high or something," Glenn said loudly, as he watched Dean sprinting around everyone, laughing loudly and giggling. The others agreed with smiles and laughs of their own, Rick especially glad to see the young boy letting down some of his defences around the group, and acting like a proper child. It was refreshing to see him laughing and having fun.

Until Dean ran in a slightly different direction on his route around the group, and tripped on a root sticking out of the ground.

He screamed, and hit the ground hard, and then all hell broke loose.

.

"Dean!" Daryl yelled, as his nephew burst into tears, and curled up in on himself on the ground, screaming in pain.

Instantly, almost everyone was on their feet, starting to reach for the child, until they remembered that he wasn't good around people. Daryl threw himself down on the ground beside Dean, yelling his name out in a panic, and trying to uncurl the young boy.

"I'll get Hershel!" Glenn yelled, and set off for the house, footsteps pounding on his ground, the sound getting drowned out by Dean's screaming.

"Dean, Dean, look at me! Look at me, Dean, what hurts, kid? Dean, you have ta tell me what hurts, Dean, c'mon, Dean, look at me. It's okay, it's okay, I got you, c'mere now, c'mere. Dean!" Daryl's voice sounded desperate and filled with panicked worry, punctuated by the sounds of the child's sobs.

Finally, Dean unfolded himself, and let Daryl pick him up gently, placing Dean on his lap, and looking him over. Dean sobbed the whole way through, clutching his left arm to his chest while he wailed.

Once he was satisfied that Dean wasn't hurt anywhere else, Daryl stood up quickly, not jostling the boy in the slightest as he moved from a sitting to a standing position. Then he set off at a run towards the house, where Hershel was already opening the door, letting light spill out from the hallway.

Everyone else stayed silent while Dean's cries faded away. They were all shell-shocked.

"Dad, is Dean going to be okay?" Carl broke the silence with a scared voice, pressing his body against Rick's, looking for some sort of reassurance.

Rick knelt down, pulling Carl into a hug, "He's going to be fine. I think he might have hurt his wrist maybe, so he was crying because of the pain, and Daryl just got very worried. Don't worry though, Hershel will take care of him. He'll be fine, I promise."

And that was all that it had been. Rick remembered the first time Carl had tripped when he was younger, and had ended up splitting his chin open so badly that it had needed three stitches. The trip to the emergency room had been horrible, and he could only imagine how much worse that it was for Daryl.

He'd only just gotten Dean back, in this sick and twisted disaster of a world, and Rick's heart had almost stopped when he'd heard Dean's wails. He couldn't imagine how Daryl had felt. The man had been panicking, as only parents can, and the child screaming and crying, and Rick couldn't blame Carl for being scared. He had been scared too, and Daryl had been downright terrified, by the look on his face when he'd seen Dean trip.

It had looked similar to the one he'd had when they'd found Merle's hand on the rooftop.

.

"Why don't you go in and see how Dean is?" Lori suggested to him quietly, when everyone had begun to calm down, though they all still shot anxious glances towards the house, "I'm sure Daryl probably needs someone now as well."

As ridiculous as that may have sounded a week ago, Rick knew that it was true.

He nodded, and slipped away from the campfire, quickening his stride as he neared the house. He hoped to God that Dean hadn't been hurt too seriously, as he had no idea how they would treat any one, let alone a child, with serious injuries in this world.

Maggie looked up when he entered the house, pointing towards the room that Dean and Daryl had been in before. Glenn waved nervously to Rick, from where he had been kissing Maggie on the sofa, as if expecting to be in trouble, but Rick only gave him a strained smile.

The sound of crying could be heard from inside the guest bedroom.

Rick knocked gently on the door, having to wait a moment before it was yanked open, and looked inside to see Daryl sitting on the bed, Dean on his lap, and Hershel looking at him with something that looked like relief in a way.

"I think Dean may have broken his wrist," He said quietly, before turning around to continue wrapping Dean's wrist up with bandages. "But obviously we don't have access to an x-ray machine, so I can't be certain that it's not just a small fracture or bad sprain."

Dean was still crying, and trying to pull his hand away, but Daryl kept a firm hand on his arm, holding it in place, and was hugging him tightly with the other arm. Tears streamed down his face, while Daryl muttered in his ear, looking devastated himself, as if the act of having to hold Dean in place was hurting him as much as it the little boy was hurting.

Hershel had placed a small metal rod on each side of Dean's wrist, to keep him from bending it, and was in the process of wrapping what looked like metres upon metres of gauze around it to secure the wrist.

"You're being so brave, Dean, well done for being so good for Hershel. I know it hurts a lot, but in a few minutes he'll be done, and you can get something for the pain," Rick pulled up a chair, and tried to comfort the boy in the only way that he could, reaching out a hand to squeeze Dean's shoulder, "Well done, buddy, you're so brave."

Daryl looked up for a moment, to nod his thanks to Rick, before focusing on Dean again, trying to comfort his nephew, and hold his arm steady for Hershel at the same time.

At last Hershel was finished, and Dean curled up against Daryl, his arm swathed in tight gauze and tape, and completely immobile. Hershel wordlessly handed Daryl two small white pills, which he managed to coax into Dean, before the child fell asleep, exhausted from the drama and pain of the whole event.

"Thank you." Daryl grunted out as he rearranged Dean in his arms, and stood up carefully.

"Why don't you stay in here tonight? I don't have any problem with it, and it must be uncomfortable in those tents," Hershel offered immediately, seeing Daryl about to head for the door.

Daryl paused for a moment, but then shook his head, "Deans needs structure. He needs ta have someplace ta call his 'home' an' I think that its best if he gets used ta the tent. S'not like we're gon' be here forever. Besides, the kid likes the tent. Calls it 'camping' an' he's already conned me outta my bedroll and blanket, plus two of Glenn's pillows. He's got a nice set up in there."

Rick watched as Daryl left the room then, Dean in his arms, and then turned to Hershel.

He was praying that the other man might be reconsidering his decision to not let them stay on the farm, after having to watch a hurt five year old be taken back to his tent, but he couldn't read Hershel's face. After a moment of silence, Hershel looked down at the double bed in front of them, and took the heaviest and softest blanket off it, handing it to Rick.

Then he placed another blanket and two feather pillows on top of the pile, saying, "I'd appreciate it if you would take these to Daryl. I don't—I don't want either of them to be cold."

"Thank you, Hershel; I'm sure Daryl will really appreciate this. And thank you for your help with Dean, it means a lot to Daryl, and the rest of the group."

"No thanks necessary." Hershel turned to go out of the room, before pausing, "And if anyone else from your group needs anything, we have spare linens and blankets in the house. Don't hesitate to take what you need."

.

Rick unzipped Daryl's tent carefully, calling out in a quiet voice, "Um, Daryl? Hershel sent me out with some stuff for you."

He entered when he heard a grunt, and looked around the small tent with his eyebrows raised. Dean was sleeping on top of the small mat that Daryl owned, covered in blankets, and looking as cosy as anyone could. There was a few weapons and chocolate bars on the ground, as well as a pile of clothes, but other than that, the tent was bare.

Daryl lay on the ground, clearly settled in for the night, with no blanket or pillow, or anything. Rick held out the bundle of blankets and pillows that he had, and watched as the other man narrowed his eyes, "I don't want no charity, Grimes. Me and Dean manage jus' fine."

His version of fine clearly included Daryl giving everything to Dean, and sleeping on the bare ground, but Rick held his tongue about that.

"It's not charity. Well, maybe it is, but all of us need some charity right now. It would be stupid not to take this... C'mon, Daryl, just let someone else help you." After a long silence, Daryl reached out to take the pile, glancing over at Dean.

"Thanks, Rick. We'll see you tomorrow."

He nodded, "Okay. I hope Dean feels better in the morning."

And then Rick walked away from the tent, feeling a slight rush of happiness. Maybe things would start to get better. Having Dean around was good for the camp, the child seemed to lift everyone's spirits, and remind them that sometimes that the simplest things bring joy. And maybe Hershel would allow them to stay. And maybe they'd find Sophia, and everything would be good.

Maybe their group could be fixed after all.

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_I hope you guys liked this chapter :) Would love to hear some feedback from you all, especially those 'silent readers', and I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can! Hope you all have a good week :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	5. Chapter 5

_Wow, I'm so so sorry for the really late update. I really hope people are still interested in this story._

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The next day, Rick wasn't surprised to see Daryl emerging out of his tent for the first time just before lunch. He'd passed their tent an hour or two before, and had heard Dean crying softly, so figured that the two had had a rough night.

He nodded silently to Daryl, giving him a small smile, as the other man only grunted in response. Dean was wrapped around him, one arm locked around Daryl's neck, and the other, injured arm, tucked closely against his chest. The little boy looked utterly dejected and miserable, and Rick's heart almost broke for him.

Daryl sat down slowly in one of the fold up chairs, and reached out carefully to grab a forgotten orange on the ground. He somehow managed to peel it with one hand, and bit off a section of orange quietly. Then Daryl bent his head down to Dean's bowed one, and offered him the orange, but the little boy just let out a whimper, and shook his head. Daryl frowned, and shifted slightly, saying something quietly to Dean, whose lip just quivered, and eyes went sad again.

"Dean, please, kid. You've got to eat something."

Rick gave Daryl a sympathetic look, not seeing any way that he could help the situation. He looked around, only seeing empty plates and remnants of breakfast, but no foods that would look attractive and tasty to a six year old. The only thing that Rick could see that could possibly help Daryl, was an untouched cup of water, which he offered to him with a raised eyebrow.

Daryl took the cup with a nod, and took a few minutes to coax the drink into a resisting Dean. Then the kid just held his arm up to Daryl's face, as if he was waiting for something.

Without missing a beat, Daryl kissed the strapped up limb, and cuddled Dean a little closer. Seeming satisfied with Daryl's response, the boy closed his eyes, and pressed his head back against his shoulder, arm cradled against his ragged jumper.

For an hour or two, Daryl and Dean just sat there, still, with everyone in camp bustling around them, doing various chores or errands. Rick kept his eye on them both, in case Daryl needed anything, but for the most part, he was occupied with the task of chopping wood with an axe, all the while hoping that the nights wouldn't get colder for a few more weeks. Shane and T-Dog were out scouring the woods for Sophia, despite Shane's resistance against the search a few days ago.

Somehow, it felt like the task of searching for Sophia had turned into a meaningless one, which they all did just to tick a box. Rick hated that, but it was the truth. Almost everyone had given up hope.

He walked past Carol at one point, seeing her sitting neatly on the RV steps as he went to get more wood. Her eyes were fixed on Daryl, with Dean cuddled up on his lap, both just sitting quietly. Lori had come over with a light blanket to drape over Dean a half hour before, and Rick suspected that the little boy had drifted off to sleep from his posture.

"How're you holding up, Carol?"

She looked up at his gentle question, and bit her lip. "Fine," Carol's gaze flickered back to Daryl and his nephew for a second, but she forced her eyes away, "I just wish I could do more around here. It's nice to keep myself busy, I guess."

Rick looked at Carol carefully, before choosing his next words, "I'm sure Daryl would appreciate someone to look after Dean maybe, when he's better. Maybe I should mention it to him…?"

At this, Carol flinched, shaking her head, before saying, "Oh, no, I don't think—I can't, Rick. Please, understand that—" She pressed a hand to her mouth, and Rick saw her hand trembling for a moment before she continued, "I'm so glad that Daryl found his nephew, I really am. It's so wonderful, and I couldn't be happier for him. But… Oh God, I can't believe I'm saying this, every time I see them… all I can think of is Sophia. And I hate that. I hate that feeling, because she's not with me. She's just always _there_. And I just can't get past that."

"I'm sorry, Carol."

Carol only pressed her lips tightly together, and stared at Dean, looking shattered, "I used to brush her hair every night, you know. No matter where we were, in the Atlanta camp, or at home, or on the road, I used to. And now, when I see that hairbrush in the bottom of my bag, I just—I wish I couldn't feel anything. Because it feels like I'm mourning my baby girl already, and we don't even know if— I just wish she was back here, with me, no matter what. I wish I could brush her hair again, her beautiful blonde hair, and just hold her close to me."

He could only put a heavy hand on her shoulder, and shake his head. This was all his fault.

But when Rick looked over at the sleeping figure of Dean, he couldn't imagine not being able to love the little boy. He hoped for the millionth time that Shane and T-Dog would emerge from the woods with Sophia, and that Carol would be able to get over her block of seeing Dean and Daryl together.

Rick looked back at Carol, frowning when he saw her retreating back inside herself. Carol's eyes took on a wistful gaze, and a tear rolled down her cheek. He went to put a hand on her shoulder, and wasn't surprised when she jerked to the side, slightly, clearly not wanting his meagre comfort.

.

No one said a word that evening when Shane and T-Dog walked silently out of the woods. Shane could only give him a hardened look, face smeared with dirt and blood, from the long day in the sun, and narrow his eyes slightly.

Rick understood though. It was killing everyone, waiting every day to see if it would be day that Sophia would be found. He didn't know how much longer that they could keep the search up, mostly because of the sheer emotional effect it was having on the whole camp. Plus, they were losing at least half of their fighters every day, and that just wasn't safe.

But he couldn't just call off the search. It was a little girl.

So the meal commenced with the usual sombre tone that accompanied people returning without Sophia, but it soon faded slightly. Dinner was a few meagre vegetables, and the last bits of the squirrel meat each. It was not the best they'd ever eaten, by a long shot, but it certainly wasn't the worst either.

Daryl made the comment that he'd have to go hunting the next day as the plates were being passed out, and Dean clutched onto him tighter, "I don't want ya ta go inta the woods again, Daryl. I want you ta stay with me."

It was the first thing that Rick had heard him say all day, and while it was clear that the child was feeling horrible and vulnerable, it was an improvement from that morning. Daryl seemed to look pleased at Dean's interaction, and cuddled him closer, "I know ya don't, kid. But I gotta go out an' get some food fer ya. Remember ya used ta eat all the food in my house when ya came over, but I'd always buy more? This is kinda like that."

There was silence for a moment from Dean, coupled with the background sounds of Carl complaining to Lori about the vegetables on his plate, and then the child shrugged, "I guess. But I still don't want you ta. Maybe if you brought Rick with ya. An' then he could keep you safe, an' you could keep him safe."

Daryl snorted quietly, saying with a smile, "Kid, do ya think tha' Rick would know how ta keep quiet in the woods? He's a city boy, ain't no way he'd be good at hunting, he'd scare all the squirrels away." Dean giggled quietly at this, looking over with weary eyes to study Rick, before he nodded.

Glad that something seemed to be going right, Rick grinned at the two, and said, "Hey, maybe I'd be _great_ at it!"

This sent Dean into a full on laughter fit, just like he had predicted it would, and the sound of the five year old's laugh put a smile on everyone's face. It seemed to lift all their spirits in an instant, and was the real turning point in the evening.

A few minutes afterwards, Daryl managed to get Dean to sit on one of his knees, instead of clinging to his chest, and the boy even accepted a plate of food. He looked carefully at Daryl, who was picking at his vegetables with a fork, and swallowed hard. Then Dean picked up a bit of squirrel with his dirty fingers, and slowly put it in his mouth.

Anyone who was watching this little exchange froze, hoping that Dean would continue to eat for the first time that day, because the child was painfully skinny. Dean, oblivious to the looks he was getting, chewed the meat with a wary expression, before swallowing, and digging into the rest of his meal. Success.

Rick locked eyes with Daryl, and grinned widely, delighted that the little boy seemed to be getting better. He got a nod in return, though Rick could see the relief and thankfulness flooding out of Daryl as he looked down at his nephew on his lap.

Conversation flowed then, and laughter was soon breaking the night air. Stories about high school scandals, hilarious co-workers, and once in a life-time encounters ensued, and all the usual funny tid-bits that are coaxed out of people when the company is good, and things seem to be going okay.

Dean finished his food first. Then he stared for a few moments at his empty plate, and let out a minuscule sigh, so small that Rick wasn't even sure the child knew that he had done one. Daryl, without hesitating, reached over, and emptied his mostly untouched food onto Dean's plate, without saying a word. The child turned around slightly to face Daryl, trying half-heartedly to give the food back, but Daryl only winked at him, and kissed the boy on his mop of hair.

.

They all retreated back to their tents later than usual, when the sun had completely gone down, and the last embers of fire were well and truly extinguished.

Rick noticed that Dean even walked by himself back to the tent, chuffed with the sling that T-Dog had constructed for him with a scarf of Andrea's. Daryl had smiled quietly to himself at the faded pink colour of the fashion scarf that Andrea had dug out of her bag, but given Dean a big thumbs up when he had turned to his uncle, beaming.

So he lay down with a yawn beside Lori, relieved that they didn't seem to be under as much of a threat. Carl was asleep the second his head hit the pillow, curled up with one of Hershel's cosy blankets wrapped securely around him.

Then, with his arms gently around Lori, Rick fell asleep, feeling more secure then he had in a long time.

They would find Sophia. They would.

.

The next day passed in a blur.

Rick spent almost all day out looking for Sophia, with Glenn. It was a brutal search, all tracks washed away after days, and they just ended up wandering through the trees, shouting her name when they grew bold enough to.

Daryl went hunting as well.

He had been there while Daryl had been saying goodbye to Dean, as tears silently fell down the little boy's face. Lori had been holding his good hand, while Daryl bent down, hugged him, and said that he would be back soon. "Promise?"

"You know I do, kid."

Then Daryl had been stalking off towards the trees, one hand scrubbing at his face. It almost looked like he had been wiping away a stray tear, from what Rick could see, but he didn't comment on it. Dean had refused to move until Daryl was out of sight, and then he had reluctantly let Lori guide him towards the camp fire.

Rick had left shortly after that, with Glenn, while Dean was engrossed in the old colouring books that had come from inside the house. He had heard the boy explaining to Maggie that his colouring was outside the lines, because he was using his "Not supposed ta be good at colouring an' stuff hand."

After hours of looking in the woods, they finally had to give up for the day. "Tomorrow," Rick had said with determination in his voice, "We'll find her tomorrow."

Glenn had nodded, and then neither of them had said another word until they returned to camp. By that time, it had been almost dark, and the mood was nothing like the previous night. They all thanked Daryl greatly for the squirrels and berries that he had managed to get while hunting, and then everyone had gone their separate ways once they had finished their meal.

He had sat and watched everyone go, Glenn to the house, Daryl and Dean to their tent, Carol straight to the RV, T-Dog to his tent, Andrea to take watch. And then Rick had felt a hollow feeling in his chest, as he turned to look out at the treeline. _Tomorrow_.

They would find Sophia. They would.

.

Rick woke up early, his mind fixated on the task of finding that little girl. _They would find Sophia. They would_. He waited until everyone was up, before announcing that he was going out again that day, and watched Daryl's eyes narrow.

But then Dean let out a whimper, his wrist still paining him, and curled in closer to Daryl, and he looked up at Rick with helpless eyes. Daryl couldn't just leave for a day, and they both knew it. Dean still wasn't at 100%, and apparently, he had withdrawn into himself after only an hour of Daryl being gone the previous day. He couldn't just up and leave for the whole day, not now anyway.

So Rick nodded in understanding, and thanked T-Dog when he volunteered to go as well.

Then Daryl stood, Dean on his waist, and said that he was going to go and see if Hershel could spare anymore painkillers. The tears in the little boy's eyes were a testament to his pain, Rick felt his heart go out for Dean, "I'll go with you," he said just as Daryl was about to walk off, "I was going to ask Hershel if we could borrow two of his horses for the search today. I'll help us cover more ground that way."

"Jus' don't go near any fuckin' snakes," Daryl muttered darkly, already moving towards the house, not noticing the slightly smiles on the rest of the groups' faces after his statement.

"Wait! Guys…" Glenn yelled out, and then bit his lip.

They all paused, and turned to look at him, and Rick got this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach suddenly. Daryl turned, a few feet away from the rest of them, Dean's head resting against his neck, and narrowed his eyes, "What is it, chinaman?"

Glenn fidgeted for a moment, and then blurted out, "So… Barn's full of walkers." Everyone froze. Rick felt himself go numb, and looked around to see the rest of the group looking the same as he felt.

Everything seemed to happen in fast forward from there.

Suddenly Rick found himself outside the barn, the other group members gathered around, all looking on as Shane inspected the barn. Dean and Carl were standing behind Lori, both looking young and vulnerable, while Daryl and Shane began to fight. He tried to break them up when it got heated, voices being raised, and tensions rising.

Dean let out a whimper, and pushed himself into Carl slightly, but no one took any heed of him.

"Now, just let me talk to Hershel, let me figure it out," Rick could almost feel himself slipping down a slope of despair, but he was determined to find a foothold. This farm was safe, bar the barn. They were happy, and they were safe here. And he _needed_ to keep it that way.

"What are you going to figure out?" Shane yelled back at him, and Dean took another few steps away from the raised voices.

Rick could feel himself wanting to lose control, but he fought to keep his voice somewhat calm and reasonable, "If we're going to stay—If we're going to clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. This is his land!"

Then Dale came out with his confession that he'd already known about this, and spoken to Hershel about it, and Shane started yelling again, and then the doors of the barn rocked with the pressure of walkers behind them. Snarls filled the air, and all of them backed away, faces wary and suspicious.

Lori grabbed Carl, and started moving back towards camp, ushering a sobbing Dean along with her. But Dean broke out of his grasp, and ran to Daryl, who scooped him up, and angled his body away from the barn, protecting the crying kid from the threat.

"Alright, everyone back to camp! I'll go deal with Hershel right away."

.

Daryl came with him to the house, Dean now crying and complaining about how much his arm hurt. "Listen, Daryl, don't say anything to Hershel, okay? Just let me deal with this… situation."

The other man nodded, but scowled, pushing open the door roughly. "Whatever."

Hershel and Jimmy met them in the hallway, seemingly in a hurry to get somewhere, looking more than a little frazzled. "Hey, old ma, c'n I get some more painkillers off ya? I can trade ya some berries fer 'em."

Distracted, Hershel quickly got the medication for him, declining the pile of berries that Daryl dug out of his pocket, wrapped in a semi-clean red rag, and moved past him. Rick watched Daryl shrug, and offer them to Dean, whose tears were drying on his face, and smirked as the kid carefully picked them out of his uncle's palm with one hand, and ate them, grinning slightly.

"Hershel, we need to talk about something."

Daryl stomped past them, Dean's chin stained with berry juice, and muttered, "Damn straight you fuckin' do. Yer all jus' a bunch of idiots, gon' get us all killed."

The door slammed behind him, and Hershel looked sharply at Rick, seeking a reason for Daryl's sudden hostile behaviour. "We found the barn," He finally said, and watched as Hershel's face froze, and then twisted into an emotion that he couldn't decipher.

Then, after a few beats of silence, Hershel looked over at Jimmy, and said, "Rick, I think you need to help us out with a little task."

.

An hour or so later, Rick found himself standing outside the bar, surrounded by the whole group, a grotesque, snapping walker on the other end of a pole he was holding. It felt so wrong, and they were all staring at him with a look of disgust, and confusion in Carl's case, but he didn't move.

He was doing this for the group. He was doing this so they wouldn't have to leave. He was doing this so they wouldn't have to die, one by one, bloody and mangled.

He was doing this for them.

But Shane was going out of control. There were guns in everyone's hands, and all Rick wanted to do was to yell for them to stop. He was doing this for them. It was against everything that he stood for, but he was doing it for them. To keep them all alive, and to give them some hope for a future. Why couldn't they see that?

Daryl was circling him, his gun trained on the walker, and his eyes narrowed. His lips were turned up into a half snarl, and it echoed the expression of the rest of the men of the group.

The world slowed down, and Shane was still yelling, and Rick realised that he was yelling too. But then he glanced over, to see Dean standing by himself a few metres away, shaking uncontrollably. His good arm was wrapped around himself, and the little boy looked terrified out of his mind. Tears ran down his face, and his cheeks were red, and Rick could feel his resolve weakening.

But he was doing this for them… So why did it feel so wrong?

Then Shane was shooting the walker Hershel was holding, and the rest of them were visibly readying themselves.

"Yeah, you're right man, that is enough." With one clean shot, Shane killed the walker Hershel was holding, and seemed to just break down into a frenzied anger, "ENOUGH! Enough risking out lives for a little girl whose _dead_! Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! Enough! Rick, it ain't like it was before! Now, if you all want to live, if you want to survive, you're got to fight for it! I'm talking about fighting, right here, right now."

Rick was begging Hershel to take the walker from him, pleading and screaming at the older man to take the undead creature from his hands, because everything was happening far too fast, and he was positive that the results were going to be catastrophic.

Shane was pounding on the barn door, and guns were being cocked, and Dean's wailing could be heard in the background. "Stay back, Dean!" Daryl yelled, not turning around, his gaze never leaving the walker. "Stay back, kid, an' don't you dare come near till I say you can!"

People were screaming at him from every direction, but Rick was completely helpless, and it was all he could do to keep his grip on the walker. "Rick, do something!" Lori screamed from behind him, but he could do _nothing_.

Then Shane wrenched open the barn doors, and all hell broke loose.

That's when the shooting started, and Dean's screaming reached a whole new level. Shots started to ring out, and for a moment, the world was just filled with screams and shots, and darkness, and pain.

He found himself slipping into an autopilot mode as the walker he had been holding was shot, and then everything fell into place. He yelled for Lori and Carl to stay back, and then watched, at the utter massacre of the walkers, knowing that it was the right thing to do deep down.

They were lined up like a firing squad, taking down the abominations with all the skills they'd been forced to learn. And then Rick really saw it. He saw the pain and hardness that had changed all of them. He saw the damage the end of the world had done to them.

But he was proud of them.

Rick watched the fighters of the group stand up to protect their family, and couldn't fault them. A fiery anger and unwillingness to die was planted firmly in all of them, and it was just how things were. The way in which the scenario had played out was wrong, but the outcome was right. This was how things were now, and it was how to protect the group.

They had to protect the group, above everything.

.

An eerie silence settled as the last of the walkers had been gunned down.

Dean's screams had faded during the shooting, but Rick couldn't bring himself to look away from the doors to see how the child was.

Shane turned to look at him, but then they heard another sound, only barely. Daryl tightened his hold on the shotgun, and the rest of the group sunk a bit lower in their stances. They were like wild animals, ready for another kill.

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_So, was that okay? I'm hoping that you guys are still out there reading this! Have had a horribly busy two weeks, and have been a bit preoccupied with the possibility of getting a book published in a month or so :) But I really hope that you all enjoyed this, and I hope that you'll let me know what you thought of this… Feedback helps me write faster!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey everyone :) I know that this update is a little late, but my right hand is in a splint, so my typing had slowed down, a lot. Sorry about this anyway, and thanks for all the reviews from the last chapter!_

_I hope you all enjoy this!_

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There was a shuffling noise from inside the barn.

Daryl shifted his weight slightly, and flexed his fingers on the shotgun barrel. His eyes were focused on the darkness inside the barn. He ignored the mound of bodies in front of the barn, and the sounds of sobs from behind him.

He had to protect the group. He had to make sure that Dean was in a safe environment. There were no two ways about it, the walkers were a threat, and that meant that they had to be eliminated. He had to protect Dean.

And besides, zero tolerance for walkers.

But then the barn door was creaking open slightly, and his eyes narrowed. Sounds melted away, and he breathed out slowly. This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The moment when he could make sure that Dean was safe. For now, at least. _This was it._

And then a sneaker emerged from the depts of the barn, red socks and double knotted laces. A skinny, filthy leg attached to it. And then another leg. Daryl's breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to look up at the torso and head of the walker, even though he knew what he was about to see. He couldn't breathe.

Carol screamed.

Daryl's eyes snapped up from the ground, and looked into the face of the walker. He looked into the dead eyes of the little girl he had been searching for. He looked at the grey face, splatted with mud and blood, that was snarling at them. He looked at the bloody mess of a shoulder, where the flesh had literally been ripped away.

He looked at the rainbow on her shirt.

Then Carol was choking out her daughter's name, sobbing, and running. Daryl could hear Carol's footsteps coming up behind him, but he felt numb. He had been going to find Sophia. He had a plan._ He had been going to find her._

Daryl caught her gently with two arms, his gun clattering to the ground, and let Carol's momentum pull them to the ground. She was shaking in his arms, thrashing weakly against him, but he wouldn't let go. He couldn't let go, because he had been going to find that little girl, and she just couldn't be that walker.

She just couldn't be.

Carol was whimpering in his arms, but Daryl just couldn't stop staring at Sophia. No, it was a walker. It wasn't a little, innocent kid anymore. _It_ was a walker, standing right in front of him, and Daryl could hear the snarls from metres away. And it was _killing_ him.

He tried to turn around to look at his kid, or really, Merle's kid, but it didn't even matter because that he was _Daryl's_, and he needed Dean in his arms right at that fuckin' moment. And not a moment later, because it felt like Daryl was about to explode.

But then Rick was finally walking towards them, and Daryl couldn't keep his eyes off that walker, and his head was pounding.

That could have been Dean. That walker, snarling and hungry for flesh, that thing that had once been a twelve year old girl, could have been Dean. That could have happened to him too, and God knows that Hershel could have thrown his kid into that fuckin' barn, and then—Daryl's heart pounded painfully, and he nearly choked. That could have been Dean.

Rick was raising his gun up, and Carol was still making those little noises, and all Daryl wanted to do was grab Dean and get far away from all these people. But he had a responsibility to Carol, to…do whatever it was he was currently doing, seeing as he couldn't even find her child when she needed him the most. Daryl was hardly breathing now, as he watched the walker stumble around the other bodies, making noises that no child should ever make.

Her legs looked too skinny to hold up her weight, but Daryl knew that even if she had had no legs at all, the walker would have been trying to reach them. It's eyes were clouded and grey, and Carol suddenly started to shudder in his arms.

Daryl raised her up slightly higher, wrapping a hand around her arm. He knew what was coming. She knew what was coming.

Neither of them wanted to believe it though.

Then Rick's gun was staring down the walker, and for a second, it seemed like the thing stopped. Almost like it was waiting to be killed.

A gunshot sounded out, and Daryl watched, in slow motion it seemed, as the skinny body rocked back slightly with the force of the bullet. Then, what had once been Sophia, crumpled to the ground, a bullet hold clearly visible in her forehead, and he felt something inside him break.

Carol went limp, her forehead resting on the ground as she sobbed her heart out. All Daryl could do was hold one arm around her waist, and stare at the body on the ground. He had been going to find her. It could have been Dean.

He had failed.

Then his head bowed for a moment, in a few seconds of remorse and apology for the little girl he had almost saved. If he had only started looking sooner. If he hadn't gone and almost gotten himself killed. If he hadn't been weaker. If he hadn't…

The gunshot was still echoing in his head, and Carol's body was shaking against his, and Daryl felt like he was about to throw up

.

After a few more minutes of stunned silence, Daryl hauled Carol as gently as he could to her feet.

"Don't look," He tried to mutter, but she pushed herself away from him, and stumbled towards the RV. Daryl watched, frozen for a moment, as Carol half ran away from him, her sobs never ending, and her pain just beginning.

Then he tried to look for Dean. His gaze fell first on Lori and Carl. Rick's wife was curled up on the ground with her son, both crying, and trying to shield him from the horrific sight. Her arms were wrapped around Carl, and she was rocking them both back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Beth, Maggie, and Hershel were all pressed together. Tears were running down their cheeks, as they knelt on the ground, stunned and shocked beyond belief. They still had each other through, Daryl thought, though he knew that they would want to hear it.

Dean stood alone.

His kid was standing right where he had left him, feet planted into the dust. He was shaking harder than Daryl had ever seen anyone shake, his thin frame wracked with tremors. Tears were glinting on his face in the sunshine, though he wasn't crying anymore. There was just a sort of blank expression on the five year old's face, one that couldn't be explained or described, and one that Daryl knew well. He had experienced that feeling, and he started running.

Daryl ran full speed towards his nephew, standing alone, apart from anyone else, and didn't stop until he had scooped the kid into his arms. He took care to avoid jostling Dean's splinted arm, but Dean made no complaint as he was lifted into the air.

And then they were both just frozen, one of Daryl's hands wrapped around Dean's body, and the other gripping the back of his neck as tightly as he could without hurting him. Dean's good hand was fisted in Daryl's hair, his head pressed against his neck, as if he was afraid to let go.

Their breathing was heavy, muffled by emotions and pain, but it just felt so _right_. In that moment, holding Dean close to him, and knowing that nothing could hurt them at that second, Daryl felt complete. He had Dean, and he could protect him.

Like he couldn't protect Sophia.

The knowledge hit him like a ton of bricks, and Daryl's grip on Dean tightened. That could have been his kid. That had come so close to being Dean, if Rick and Shane hadn't found him that day. That could have been Dean who had stumbled out of the barn.

Then what would he have done?

.

Daryl sunk to the ground, Dean still clutching tightly to him, and watched as everyone started to slowly move around.

He watched numbly as the walker that had been Beth's mother suddenly came back to 'life' and started trying to eat her. He watched as the others quickly handled the situation. He watched as Rick turned to stare at him with devastated eyes. He watched Andrea as she let out a shuddering sigh, and looked at her shaking hands.

He watched all of this, one hand keeping Dean's head pressed against his shoulder. Dean didn't need to see any more of this living nightmare.

He had already seen more in a few seconds, than anyone should have to witness in an entire lifetime, or five.

It took a few minutes, but finally Dean started crying. Daryl knew that kind of shock, when everything just pauses, and then it all just flows out. He knew that feeling, and he held his nephew tightly to him, as the tears came, and then didn't stop.

Daryl watched Lori look at him with pitiful eyes, at the child who was hysterical and clinging to him, and felt some sort of resentment to her. She had had Carl. She had been so concerned with making sure that her twelve year old was okay, that she couldn't spare a second to glance over at the five year old, and see that he _certainly_ wasn't okay.

It wasn't justified, Daryl's feelings of…some emotion he wasn't familiar with, but it was all he had. Then came the feelings of inadequacy. Why couldn't Dean have a mother like that? Sure, Lori seemed to be failing at that these days, but it was the fuckin' end of the world, so he was willing to cut her some slack.

But even when the world had been intact, and Daryl had been paying some made up form of child support that he was under no obligation to pay, Dean's mother had never been half the woman Lori Grimes was. And that made Daryl angry, and worried, and afraid, because he was damaged enough, so how the fuck was he supposed to raise a kid?

The kid was Dean though, and he figured that they'd lasted this long, so how bad could anything else be.

If he could do one thing though, Daryl realised, it would be to have prevented Dean from having to witness that. The brutal and blunt execution of a walker that had once been a little girl.

That, he wished he could have spared his kid.

.

Rick stood, looking out over everyone, his gun heavy and cold in his hand.

Hershel and his family had drifted inside, while Glenn followed them hesitantly, looking as though he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing. Carol was long gone. Dale, ever the one to have the last word, had simply stared at Rick meaningfully, before heading after Carol, though Rick wasn't sure what he had been supposed to get from Dale's expression. Shane, Andrea, and T-Dog were inspecting the bodies, and beginning to drag them around. Lori had led Carl away, his son crying, without a second glance back at Rick.

And then, in the middle of it all, Daryl sat, stony and hunched over.

Dean was clinging to him sobbing furiously, his head buried in Daryl's shoulder, and body shaking. Daryl simply sat there, holding him tightly, and observing everything that was happening around them. His face was expressionless, but Rick had seen him just after Sophia had shuffled out of the barn.

The range of emotions on Daryl's face, at that one moment of realisation, had been painful to watch. A mix of conflicted pain and anger, with self-loathing and confusion had been splashed across his face, clear as day. When Daryl had heard Carol scream out, Rick could have sworn that his face had crumpled, that his armour had been cracked and left irreparable.

But as he looked at Daryl now, he realised that that wasn't true.

Because Daryl was staring back at him with hooded eyes, the spoke his anger and pain in volumes. He was rubbing Dean's back as he half glared at Rick, all his old walls slamming back up, and Rick could see Daryl reconstructing him emotions, and dealing with the situation by cramming everything down. He could see the unspoken blame in his eyes, that was directed at himself, and the way that he just held Dean close to him, as if the child was the only thing that Daryl had left.

And then Rick turned away, because he had no words to offer the man.

He had nothing to offer anyone. He had failed this group, in so many ways. But this was the most painful blow of all, perhaps. Rick wasn't sure that Carol was ever going to be able to forgive him, or if he would be able to forgive himself. Probably not.

But, as he watched Andrea drag the body of a teenage walker into the pile that they were compiling, he realised with a heavy heart that they would recover from this. Her face was hardened, and weary, but she would move on from this. Eventually. Maybe that was the worst thing of all, the knowledge that they would all be able to get past this horrific and tragic event. Because they had done it before, and they would have to do it again.

.

Daryl waited until everyone had melted away from outside the barn. He stayed on the ground, until it was just him and Dean.

Then he pushed himself onto his feet, and stood, with Dean still crying into his shirt, and took one last look at the bodies that littered the ground. The smell of death and decay was clear under the hot sun, and he just wanted to get away from everything.

But Daryl knew that he would have to help dig graves, and move bodies, and do whatever the fuck else Rick would want done.

He should be the one to dug Sophia's grave, he knew that. He should at least finish what he had caused, the death of an innocent child.

Dean needed him the most then though. So Daryl pushed all his other emotions down, and walked back to his tent, and just held his nephew, which was the only thing that he could really do. It wasn't until they were back in the tent, Dean lying down on the cot, and Daryl sitting beside him, that the child spoke.

"W-will that happen ta you, Daryl? I don't—I don't—I thought you were lookin' fer that girl. An'—an' her ma was cryin', an' I don't—I don't—Rick jus'—an' you were—an'—Daryl please don't leave me. P-_Please_ d-don't—I don't—tha' girl was jus'—an—"

The little boy's terrified ramblings had Daryl wanting to go out and kill every walker out there, just to undo what had been done, but he leaned down to him instead, "Dean, ya listen ta me. This… things are different ta what they used ta be. You know tha', we talked about it yesterday… and, when things are different, sometimes you're not prepared fer changes, or surprises. An' no one was prepared fer tha' ta happen. An' I'm sorry tha' you had ta see that. I really am. But do ya want ta know the one thing that hasn't changed, an' never will?"

Dean nodded, and clutched Daryl's arm even tighter, "What?"

"I'm always gon' be here, y'hear? I am _always_ gon' be protectin' ya. I will never leave ya, Dean, and ya have ta remember that. Can ya do that fer me?" His nephew sniffled and more tears leaked out, but he nodded, "Okay. That's the first thing ya always gotta remember. Now, we're gon' talk about this later, when yer ready fer it, but fer now, I want you ta go ta sleep, okay? Ya jus' go ta sleep, an' I'll be here when ya wake up, okay?"

His eyes wide, and body exhausted with everything that had happened, Dean nodded. With Daryl's hand still gripped tightly to his own chest, and his bad arm tucked against his side, Dean let his eyes close.

A few more tears slid down his dirty cheeks before his breathing finally evened out, and Daryl could let out a sigh. He closed his eyes briefly, and just felt Dean's regular heartbeat against his hand, and listened to his breathing.

He knew that things were going to get worse, before they could get better.

.

_Okay. Please don't hate me. To all those people who wanted Sophia to not come out of the barn – I'm sorry, I really am. But I wanted to see if I could write a really sad, angst-y scene. And I think this accomplished what it needed to._

_Am seriously begging to hear some feedback from you all. My writing felt really choppy because of this hand splint, and my inability to type fast, because I can't get the words out fast enough, and then I lose things that I wanted to put in. So apologies if this is not my best chapter ever. But really, I'm at a crossroads with this story, so if you have suggestions as to where I should go with this, or things that you want to see happen, drop me a review or PM. _

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	7. Chapter 7

_Guys. I'm sorry. I know, I haven't updated this in far too long. I've been so busy with study and work and stuff, but I'm back now. I'm back writing this again, and I have an actual plan for where it's going to go._

_I hope people still want to read this, if I even still have any readers left._

_I've sped everything up a bit, in terms of the time line, so this takes place on the same day as the barn shooting. Reminder: the last chapter contained the barn shooting, death of Sophia, and Dean was confused, crying, and snuggled up with Daryl in the tent._

_Enjoy!_

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The funerals were short and painful.

They stood around the few mounds of dirt that had been dug only a half hour ago, and were silent. There was nothing to say. The barn massacre had left the whole group, and Hershel's family, completely shell-shocked, and the result was a bone deep weariness.

They'd only started shooting a few merge hours ago, but already it seemed like it had been weeks.

Daryl had woken Dean up only ten minutes before the funerals started, not wanting the child to wake up alone, and was holding him tightly. Dean was chewing on his thumbnail, eyes hazy from sleep, staring at the ground.

The child was shaking. Daryl watched as Rick made a small speech, Carol's absence almost impossible to ignore, and then nodded respectfully at Hershel when he and his family made their way back into the house. Beth was sobbing almost hysterically, and her boyfriend, Jimmy, had his arm around her.

No tears were shed from his group. They'd all gotten so used to deaths and that overall feeling of grief, far too used to it.

Each one of them were thinking of Sophia though. From where he was standing, Daryl could see all of their gazes fixed on the small mound of dirt. Sophia was there. As Daryl stared at the ground, he felt Dean sniffling slightly, and he felt a surge of thankfulness that he had him in his arms.

Lose a kid, gain a kid.

The thought slammed into his mind, and Daryl could almost feel his heart skipping a beat. Daryl bit the inside of his mouth as hard as he could, trying to resist the urge to throw up at the thought, and wondered if it made him a terrible person to be so glad for Dean.

Dean was his nephew, practically his own kid, and he had been the only good thing in Daryl's life for the past few years. He tightened his grip tightly on Dean, and refused to look up, knowing that Rick had just raised his head to stare at him. Daryl would do anything to keep Dean safe, and he wouldn't regret it. Dean was his kid, and he was the only one who could protect him.

He didn't let himself feel guilty for that.

After another few minutes of their group just standing in silence, everyone started to split up. No words were exchanged, they all just drifted away to grieve, until Daryl and Dean were the last people left standing beside the graves.

Daryl observed silently that the group had gotten better at digging graves, since the world had gone to shit, and people had started dying.

Then Dean shifted in his arms, and he was immediately alert, "You okay, kid?"

"Daryl?" Dean let out a sniffle, and then pressed his head against Daryl's shoulder. When he spoke again, his words were slightly muffled, "I… I don't understand. W-why did all of this havta happen? Why did—why did things havta change? I used ta like it tha' way it was, when mommy was still here, an' when you used ta let me stay over, an' when—when it wasn't like this."

"Jus' the way things are, kid," Daryl felt pain flash through his chest at the thought of Dean asking such deep questions, but he pushed it down, and turned away from the grave. With his crossbow slung over one shoulder, and Dean clinging to the other, he started to walk into the woods. He needed to get away from the inquisitive glances of the group, and the feeling of people judging him that had begun when Dean had been found. Those damn people needed to mind their own business, "We'll be okay though."

It took another few minutes for Dean to reply, and his next question was hesitant, "But how do you know that?"

"'Cause I do. I know that because I've got you, an' I ain't never gon' let you go. 's long as yer with me, everythin' will work out. 's gonna be okay. We'll find Merle, an' we'll find somewhere ta make new memories, y'hear?" Daryl stopped when they reached a comfortable looking log, and settled himself down on it, Dean sitting on one of his knees.

All Daryl had ever wanted was for Dean to have a normal childhood. His own had been stained by drunken fathers, and a brother who'd hadn't been there for half of it, and then stoned for most of the rest. He knew that there was no hope for him to ever be normal, not with his scars and the protective walls that he had been forced to build around himself. Daryl knew that he'd never be able to really undo all of that, not really.

But when that woman had shown up on his doorstep, completely wasted and yelling for Merle with a bundle in her arms, Daryl had felt determination. He had been desperate not to fail the child, because of the failures that life had already saddled that tiny baby with already, and he had tried so hard. Daryl had gotten a proper job, not just little nixers, working in a garage. He had taught himself years before how to take Merle's bike apart and then back together, so he used those skills, and he had given every second pay check to Dean's mother.

Daryl had been the only one constant thing in Dean's life, and he had been _proud_ of him, an emotion that Daryl had never felt before. Pride. The kid had been turning out well, almost unaffected by all the things that fate had lobbed at him, and Daryl had been so relieved and thankful to whatever had turned out right. Dean had only just started school before the world ended, at Daryl's insistence, and he'd actually made friends, something that Daryl never had been able to do.

Dean had been on the right track to being just like any other kid his age.

But now all that seemed to be crumbling into chunks of irony before him, and he looked down briefly at Dean.

It was the end of the world, and the child was sitting on his knee, after having watched dozens of people being gunned down. His mother was gone, most likely dead, and God only knew where Merle was. Daryl was back to be literally the only thing that Dean had, and he couldn't have hated himself more for letting that happen.

"What happened with that girl?"

Daryl resisted the urge to wince, and pulled Dean closer to him instead, "She… she got bitten. By one of the bad people. Dean, she wasn't—she was sick. And she wasn't going to get better, and – _fuck_, I'm sorry that you had ta see that. I'm so sorry, Dean, I'm so, so sorry."

Dean wiped his nose on his sleeve, and then began to pick at the gauze wrapped around his wrist, "'m sorry, Daryl, I didn't mean ta look, jus'—"

He cut the child off before he could go any further, both Dixons staring out into the bushes. "I'm not angry, kid, I'm jus'… I love ya, y'know that, don't ya?"

"I love you too."

.

Daryl knew that it was time to get back to camp when it started to get dark.

The day had been long and far more scarring than he could have ever imagined. And when he looked down at Dean, who was making a pile of grass and because he had said 'it doesn't make my head hurt when I concentrate on this, Daryl, look,' he _hated_ what this world had become.

He hated the fact that he had lost Dean, and that almost everyone he had known was dead. He hated killing the walkers, putting down what had once been innocent men and women. He hated the moment when he had seen his first kid-walker. He hated not knowing who was going to die next, or knowing exactly what to felt like to stab a knife into a human eyeball.

But most of all, Daryl hated what this world was doing to Dean.

"C'mon, kid, let's get back ta camp. Might even spring fer a sleep-in tomorrow. I think tha' we both need one."

Dean looked up, a hint of happiness in his eyes, "Can you tell me stories tomorrow, like you used ta when I used ta stay in yer house?" Daryl nodded, and the boy beamed, "Yer the best person that I've ever heard at tellin' stories, cause you always do the voices, an' the actions, and the…"

Picking up his crossbow, Daryl nodded wearily, glad that at least Dean was beginning to get back to his old self. He had known that the woods was the best place to go, after all that violence and killing and bloodshed. It was where Daryl had spent most of his childhood, and he always had felt a careful sense of security there, one that he had never been able to explain.

But just as they were about to start heading back towards the house, Daryl heard a twig snap behind them, the sound of it instantly telling him that it wasn't from a wild animal, that it was from a human around the same size as him.

He whirled around, crossbow aimed within a second, and planted himself right in front of Dean.

Dean stopped right in the middle of his sentence, letting out a whimper, and clung to Daryl's legs tightly, his whole body trembling.

It was a walker. But not just one, like Daryl had assumed. The one in front of them was the shell of a businessman, his whole right arm just torn off, and his mouth twisted into a snarl. An arrow had the thing falling to the ground in seconds, hitting the leaves with almost no sound.

But then there was another one behind it. And another one. And three more stumbling through the trees towards them. And what looked like a few dozen in the distance. All dragging themselves towards Daryl and Dean.

It was a herd.

.

Daryl didn't waste a second in picking Dean up, slinging the child over his shoulder with his left hand securing Dean in place, crossbow grasped tightly in his other hand.

He started running. Dean was crying and clinging onto him, and the moans of the dead were getting louder as their food started to flee, but Daryl just gritted his teeth, and ran for his life. He ran for Dean's life, and for his determination that Dean was going to survive this, and that he was going to grow up.

The trees were flashing past him, and Daryl knew that he was getting closer to Hershel's farm, but he resisted the urge to yell out for help.

He wouldn't be yelling for himself, he would be yelling for someone to help Dean, for someone to just get the boy away from all this fear and death and darkness, but he kept his mouth shut. Daryl just focused on the way his feet were pounding on the ground, and not slowing down.

He _had_ to get Dean to safety, and he _had_ to warn the others.

Daryl was starting to pull away from the walkers, the adrenaline pumping through him giving him the energy to sprint faster than he ever had in his life. Dean's soft cries also made him forget about the fact that he couldn't really breathe, or that his knee was crunching in a way that he was sure wasn't good, or that there were dozens of walkers behind him and they were going to catch up eventually.

Finally, he burst out of the tree line, and was on the home stretch across the field. Daryl could see the campfire glowing in the distance and he fixed his gaze on it, already making a plan of what to do when he reached the others.

By the time he reached the camp, his legs were weak and his breathing wasn't right. Daryl let a sobbing Dean down, and accepted Rick's offered hand to steady himself, "Daryl, what's going on? What happened? Daryl!"

"W… Walkers…" He gasped, and raised a shaky hand to point out at the darkening field, "There's a—there's a whole damn… herd 'a them out there… must'a heard th' shots from earlier… we have to leave… now." He tried to pull away from Rick and head towards his tent, but the other man grasped him by the forearm.

Rick was frozen in shock, not processing the news properly, "Did you just say… that… that…"

The rest of the group were crowding around them then, all looking terrified, but unable to move. Then Dale, from the top of the RV squinted out at the distance, and cried out, "Walkers! I see them… it looks like a whole herd heading this way!"

Daryl wrenched his arm out of Rick's grasp and hollered, "I fuckin' told you that! Now, c'mon we havta go _now_! There ain't any time fer a damn discussion 'bout all this!"

He stomped over to his tent, trying to estimate the amount of supplies that he could fit on the bike, while everyone jolted into action, "I'll get Maggie!" Glenn yelled, and took off running towards the house, stumbling and cursing in his hurry to make it to the front door.

T-Dog and Andrea started trying to take down tents, before Rick came to his senses, and yelled for them to just load up the cars. Dale was trying to get the RV to start, but from the sounds that the engine was making, Daryl knew that the radiator hose had gone again. He bowed his head for a moment, letting out a curse, and then resumed packing his things into the ragged rucksack that he owned.

Dean was hovering behind him, tears streaming down his face, but not making a sound, "'s gonna be okay," Daryl said gruffly to him, as he shoved a blanket into the bag, "I ain't gon' let anythin' happen ta ya, it's gonna be okay."

It was only when he was tearing down his small tent, and trying to wad the canvas up into a ball that could fit precariously into one of the saddle bags, that Daryl realised.

He couldn't take Dean on the bike.

There was almost no way that the five year old would be able to hold on while the bike was moving at full speed, and Daryl wasn't sure if he wanted to take that risk. He stopped dead, spinning around in a three sixty with Dean clinging to his hand, and looked.

Hershel and his family were pouring out of their house, the women crying, and looking like they had no idea what to do. The Grimes family were like a well-oiled machine, moving quickly in unison, and Daryl didn't want to risk Dean being lost in the confusion with them. Dale was desperately trying to get the RV started. Shane was stomping around, looking for the guns, and waving his hands about as he yelled at everyone. Glenn was with Maggie, trying to stop her from running back into the house to get her possessions. T-Dog was packing up one of the trucks, looking frantic.

And the walkers were getting closer and closer.

Daryl had to make a decision. He only faltered for a second as he picked Dean up easily, and ran over to T-Dog, "I need ya ta take him." He said breathlessly, and handed Dean over to a bewildered T-Dog, "I can't take him on th'bike, an' I need ya ta take him in with ya. _Please_."

The other man stared at Daryl carefully for a second, and then at the sobbing boy in his arms, and then nodded. "Okay. C'mon, Dean, in ya go." T-Dog gently manoeuvred Dean into the passenger seat, and looked terrified as the kid started wailing.

"_No_! No, Daryl, don't leave—don't leave me! _No, no_!"

Daryl bent down to Dean for a moment, and pressed his forehead to the child's, "Dean_, I will come back fer ya._ I need ya ta go with T-Dog, an' get ta somewhere safe, I need ya ta be safe. I'm goin' ta get my bike, an' then I'll be right behind ya, okay? Ya havta go now, but I'll be right behind ya. I just—I need ya ta be safe." He looked up at T-Dog then, who was about to get in the driver's seat, and nodded, "I'll see you soon. Thank you."

Then Daryl stepped back to let Andrea slide in beside Dean, and closed the car door firmly, feeling his heart break into a million pieces. He could see Dean howling and crying, sandwiched in beside Andrea and T-Dog, but he had to be with them.

He had to be sure that Dean would be safe. Even if it meant splitting them up for a while, he would do anything to make sure that Dean was safe.

.

It was only seconds later when the walkers hit the camp, and then people started screaming.

Daryl turned around slowly, relief flooding his heart as he watched the car move quickly out of sight, the first one to escape what was about to become a bloodbath, and steeled himself for what was about to come. It was a matter of survival now, and his bike was at the opposite end of the campsite.

There was no way that they were all going to make it out of this alive.

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_So. Yes. That's where I'm going with this._

_Again, apologies for the really long wait, I hope that you guys are still reading, and that this chapter didn't disappoint you all. Would absolutely love to hear some feedback, and I'll have the next chapter up as quickly as I can. _

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey everyone :) Thanks for the reviews from the last chapter, I really appreciated them. Hope you all like this quicker than usual update!_

_**EDIT: **__Just realised that I completely forgot to include Carol in the this scene, many apologies. I'm rewriting this quickly before I go to school to include her. Sorry again!_

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Daryl slunk down into a crouch, and watched as the walkers began to stumble through the camp.

He crouched down behind a tree, and simply watched everything that was going on for a few moments. It was pure chaos, and already bodies were littering the ground. The sounds and smells were overwhelming, and Daryl had never felt more relieved in his life, because Dean was gone, and he was _safe_.

The snarls and moans of the undead were drowned out for a few short seconds by Beth's shrill scream, before Glenn clapped a hand over her mouth, dragging the teenager back behind him. Glenn stood in front of Maggie and her sister, who were miraculously near the group of parked cars, his knife held out firmly in front of him, while Maggie attempted to start one of the vehicles. He was back into walker-mode, one that they'd all been forced to adapt to on the road, and one that they'd all shed, upon reaching the farm.

Though they were far apart, Glenn glanced over and met Daryl's eyes. Daryl gave the other man a sharp nod, before continuing to slink across the camp towards his bike and crossbow.

Who knew if any of them were going to make it out?

Hershel and Patricia were separated from the two Greene girls, and even further away from the cars. The walkers were converging on them as they backed away, Hershel's shotgun shaking as he raised it.

The other boy, Jimmy, was just in the middle of everything, his face pale. He looked like he was frozen, unable to move as a female walker staggered towards him. Daryl narrowed his eyes, and tried to gesture for the kid to move or run or do _something_, but he just trembled.

From his position a few metres away, Daryl rolled his eyes, and plucked the small knife out that he always kept in his back pocket. It was nothing more than a penknife to be honest, but it would have to do. His hunting knife was heavy in its sheath on his hip, but Daryl knew that he would need that later.

He flicked it open, looked back at the track that T-Dog had driven the car down moments before, and then took off sprinting in the opposite direction. Daryl reached Jimmy moments before the walker placed her rotting hands on his neck, and brought the penknife down hard on the top of her skull.

The bone split messily, flecks of gore spraying everywhere, but the job was done and the walker went down. Then Daryl pressed the penknife into Jimmy's hand, shoving him hard in the direction of Glenn and the others, before turning and stabbing another walker in the face with his hunting knife. "Get outta here, kid!"

Jimmy stumbled towards Beth and Maggie, knife clutched in his hand, but then Daryl was moving and observing, and Jimmy was gone from his mind.

The Grimes family were still packing up, Lori throwing bags into the back of the car, while Rick picked off walkers with his gun. Daryl kept moving. Dale was in the RV, the engine whining and groaning, but nothing happening. Shane was running through collapsed tents, blowing the heads off walkers and screaming, "Where's the gun bag? Who moved the guns?"

Daryl realised that he hadn't seen the gun bag since that morning, when Shane had started handing out the weapons, and put two and two together.

Rick must have gathered up all the shotguns and rifles, and hidden them, from the rest of the group. It would explain the fact that everyone only had handguns, and why Shane's face was getting redder and redder. He glanced back briefly at Rick, who was shooting at walkers efficiently, while Lori started the car, and then back to Shane.

He pressed his back against a tree, and carefully looked around their destroyed camp for Carol. The last time he remembered seeing her was in the RV, crying, as she ususally did these days. Daryl scowled, and looked at the RV, a few feet away. He would have to go get her.

Another walker crossed his path, and Daryl stabbed it clean through the eyeball, bending slightly as the walker fell and the knife went with it. He yanked the blade out of its eye with a _squish_, and grimly took down another two, all the while taking steps towards the RV. It was a midway point between his bike and the cars, one that he hoped Carol would be able to make it from.

The motorbike was on the other side of the camp, where he had left it, his crossbow propped up against the engine.

He gritted his teeth in frustration for leaving it there, but knew that he couldn't just jump into a car and drive off. Everything that he owned was on that bike, it was _Merle's_, and his crossbow was their only hope of hunting efficiently. Plus, there were still members of the group fighting and dying.

Daryl would just have to make it there.

Reaching the open door of the RV, the halfway point to the bike, Daryl called in, "Leave it, old man! Get in a car, an' get th' fuck out! Carol, ya in there? Carol, ya havta go, get in tha' car with Rick an' Lori!"

"I can't!" Dale yelled back, "I can't leave it—I've nearly got her." Dale was referring to the RV in an almost sickeningly sentimental way, personifying the vehicle as if it were his dead wife. With a desperate look, he turned the keys in the ignition again, getting only a whine from the engine in response. Dale shook his head stubbornly, and tried again, repeating, "I'll get her, I'll get her." At Daryl's urgent grunt, he looked up, looked Daryl right in the eye, and said, "Go on, son, I'll get this going in a minute. You go on." Then he turned towards Carol, who was trembling against the RV table, and smiled gently at her, "You go on, Carol, I'll just get this old girl working, and then I'll follow."

Feeling a walker grab at his shoulder, Daryl whirled and split the thing's face right in half with the strength of his stab. He had to go. "Carol!"

Eventually she began to make her way down the steps, and Daryl pulled her close to him, "Okay, ya've got ta make it ta Grimes, an' his car, can ya do that? I'll cover ya, all ya gotta do is _run_. Alright? Okay, go!"

He pushed her roughly in the direction of Rick, and followed her for a few steps, taking down two walkers that threatened to overwhelm her. Then Carol was scrambling into the back of the car, Lori giving her a small smile, and Daryl headed back the way he had come.

Carol was safe.

With one last look at Dale, he pulled the RV door shut, and took another moment to survey the carnage that was taking place right in front of him.

Shane looked like he was having some kind of fit, screaming and howling like he was out of control. He was covered in blood, from the close range shots that he kept taking, and was ranting incoherently at the top of his lungs.

"Get inta a fuckin' car! Shane, get outta there!" Daryl shouted gruffly at him, seeing the dozens of walkers that were staggering towards Shane, due to the noise of the shots and his yelling. The man took no notice of Daryl's warning, and continued to shoot at the walkers, "Yer gon' run outta bullets, ya idiot!"

Just as Daryl was about to decide if he should try to save Shane's stupid ass, another scream pierced through the air, full of pain and death.

His head snapped up to see Patricia clutching onto Hershel with one hand, while a walker tore off half her neck. The two were so close to the car, Hershel's hand on the door to open it, but blood was pouring out of Patricia and all she could do was shriek. She was dying.

Daryl felt for her, he really did, but the blood and screaming were attracting more walkers, and he knew that they had to leave. Glenn was in the front seat of the car, gaping and gasping as he stared out at Patricia. Maggie and Beth were wailing along with her, while Hershel just stared as she grasped at his hand.

After a second or two, Jimmy yanked the door open from inside the car, and grabbed Hershel's free hand. With a steely resolve that hadn't previously been present in his eyes, he looked right at Patricia, and firmly pulled Hershel inside the vehicle. Glenn was forced to drive off almost immediately, the swell of walkers piling up at the car windows doubling within seconds.

And with that, another car load of the group was safe, and a life lost.

.

Daryl didn't waste any time in getting to his bike after that.

He slashed and stabbed his way through the oncoming walkers, though most seemed to be more concerned with Shane and the ruckus he was causing. Just as Daryl had started up his bike, he heard another scream, this one more familiar to him.

_Lori_. She was hanging out of Rick's arms, as he pushed her back, and howling for Carl. He looked over at their car, and saw Carol huddled in the backseat, sobbing, but safe.

With a muttered curse, Daryl kicked the bike into action, and scanned the area for the young boy. When he finally found him, Daryl let out a groan of disbelief and rolled his eyes. The kid had managed to separate himself from his parents by a good few metres, presumably he'd been trying to get something, and was surrounded by walkers.

By some sort of miracle, Carl had produced a gun from seemingly out of nowhere, and was shooting at the walkers as best that he could. But there was no clear path for Rick to get to his son, and both he and Daryl knew that.

"Carl!" Rick yelled hoarsely, and looked around desperately. He fired at a few walkers heading towards him, but Daryl knew that his clip must be nearly running out, and that Carl didn't really stand a chance. This world wasn't meant for children or those of weak will.

Daryl knew what he had to do. And he knew that it was a pretty stupid plan.

Manoeuvring the bike around the walkers was almost damn impossible, but somehow he managed to get on the other side of the herd, and closer to Carl. He saw Rick's eyes light up with relief and thankfulness, but there was no time for niceties, "Get outta here!" He growled loudly, "Ain't got no time ta hang around, I got yer boy, jus' _go_!" Then he saw Rick bundle a distraught Lori into their car beside Carol, and start to speed away. He noticed that Rick didn't even spare a glance back at his former best friend.

"Kid!" Daryl yelled when he was close enough, "Kid, get over here!" Carl, tears running down his face, didn't even look to see if it really was Daryl, he just turned and ran. Daryl covered him, using his crossbow to take down a walker that was particularly close to Carl. "C'mon, get on, now hold on with yer two hands."

Carl was a small kid, and took up barely any space on the bike as he scrambled on behind Daryl. The bike sped off once Daryl felt Carl's tiny hands close around his torso, and he heard the boy cry out briefly as walker hands brushed against his jacket, just as the motorbike began to move.

And then they were okay.

.

Daryl could feel the wind in his face, and smell the rotten stench of decomposing bodies as he bypassed the herd, and jolted over the bumpy grass to get to the dirt road. Carl was holding onto him for dear life, his body shaking against Daryl's but he didn't have any words to offer the boy.

He looked back once, to see what remained of their safe haven.

The RV still hadn't moved from its spot. Daryl could just about make out that the doors were torn off their hinges, and he felt a pang of sadness go through his heart. He had warned the old man, he had told him to leave, hadn't he? But from the way walkers seemed to be swarming around the vehicle, it looked like Dale hadn't heeded his warning.

Another person lost.

Then Daryl focused on the road ahead of him. Dean was safe, and that was the most important thing. Dean was safe, and Carl was safe, and most of the group had gotten away. He had gotten Carol out of the RV, and shoved Jimmy into action, and gotten Carl.

_Shane_. The thought slammed into his mind, and made Daryl shake his head slightly.

Daryl couldn't save everyone. He had _told_ him to go, just like he'd told Dale. But damn Shane, too stubborn and off the rails to heed anyone's advice. Daryl wondered how Rick would react. He wondered if anyone but him knew that Shane and Lori had been sleeping together, long before Rick had come alone.

He hadn't said anything though, mostly because he didn't care. It wasn't his business who hooked up with who; it was his business to stay alive, as far as Daryl saw it.

From the way Carl was crying into his jacket, Daryl guessed that the kid had figured out what had happened to Shane. It wasn't that hard to piece together.

"Ya bit, kid?!" He called back to Carl, even though Daryl knew that he wasn't.

Carl shook his head, and called back _no_, an audible tremble in his voice. But it was what happened next that surprised Daryl. The kid rested his head against Daryl's back, hands still locked tightly around him, and called out, "Thank you, Daryl. You saved me."

"'m gon' getcha back ta yer folks," He replied, because he didn't want Carl to think that he was stuck with him, "Yer gon' be okay now."

"I know."

.

Andrea had given up on trying to calm Dean down after ten minutes of the child non-stop crying. Then he had tried to scramble out of the truck, until T-Dog had grabbed him gently with one hand, and pulled him away from the window.

Now the child was just sitting still, in between her and T-Dog, not saying a word. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, as if he expected Daryl to appear in front of them at any minute, and he fiddled with the loose strands of gauze from his strapped up wrist.

"It's going to be okay," Andrea said, attempting to sound reassuring, but knowing that she had next to none experience with children, especially in this kind of situation.

Dean nodded firmly, "I know. 'cause Daryl said tha' he was gonna come back, an' he is, 'cause he's always right. An' he's gonna come back, an' then we're gonna find Daddy, an' then we're gonna be fine. 'cause that's what he told me, an' that's what's gonna happen. Daryl's gonna come back."

To be honest, Andrea didn't know how any of the others were going to make it out of the herd that had been just colliding when they'd left, but she nodded anyway. She exchanged a wary glance with T-Dog over Dean's head, and was suddenly hit with a wave of fear.

She couldn't raise a kid. What if Daryl didn't make it, or they never met up with him, and they were left to raise Dean? Andrea didn't know anything about kids, let alone how to take care of one during the end of the world. And this kid was a Dixon, which would surely only make things harder. _Oh God_. She took a deep breath, and bit the inside of her cheek, trying to remain calm. If worst came to worst, surely they could make something work. But what if Dean hated her?

Realising that she was getting way ahead of herself, Andrea forced herself to take another deep breath, and looked down at Dean.

With more nerves than were probably necessary, she extended her arm, and wrapped it around the little boy's shoulders. "We'll find Daryl," Andrea said, smiling down at him, "We'll find him, and then everything will be okay."

Dean looked up at her with big eyes, and a tear stained, dirty face, "I know. Because Daryl said so, an' that makes it true. Don't worry, he'll find us, cause he's Daryl, an' he's the best tracker in the world. One time he tracked this deer all the way in the woods, an' then he brought me with him, an' then I got to see the deer, an' then—"

Andrea smiled faintly with relief as Dean began to ramble on. At least this was better than the crying.

.

_So, I hope you guys think this is okay. I know a few of you were probably a bit iffy with the time changes that I made in the previous chapter, but hopefully you're still enjoying this. Would love to hear some feedback from you guys, it really helps me write faster. Apologies for mistakes or just general badness, I'm pretty sleep deprived. I'll have the next chapter up hopefully during the weekend._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews from the previous chapter – I really appreciate them :)_

_**EDIT:**__ Just went back and fixed some little mistakes, thanks to the people who pointed them out to me – sorry about that!_

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"We need to stop somewhere, and figure out what the plan is," Andrea said carefully to T-Dog, trying to keep the urgency to a minimum in her tone, so as not to startle Dean, "And we need to do it soon. Before dark." She looked carefully at T-Dog, and saw him nod slowly.

Dean looked between the two, a bored expression on his face, "Are you guys worried tha' Daryl won't know where ta find us? Cause he's gonna find us, he told me so. He said tha' he wouldn't leave me."

Andrea smiled down brightly at the boy, and tried to make it look believable, "I know, Dean, I know. It's getting dark though, so we, um, might have to find somewhere to stay the night. Just for a while."

This made the child frown, and Andrea felt her heart sink as he chewed on the side of his thumb, "But… but Daryl said tha' he was gonna come. Can't we—can't we jus' go back an' get him? We jus' left him, an' he said tha' he was gonna come, but what if—we jus' _left_ him, and there was loads of bad people, and he—he—"

"Dean," T-Dog reached over squeezed the kid's shoulder, seeming to know exactly what he was doing, "There's no time for freaking out, okay? Things are going to be fine, you've just got to try and keep your head on straight. Daryl can handle himself, and he knows that you can too, so you have to prove him right. We're going to hole up for the night soon, and then we'll find him tomorrow, I promise. Can you keep it together for me, I don't want Andrea to get too worried."

With a glance over at her, Dean bit his lip, and nodded at T-Dog. "S'okay, Andrea." He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, and then leaned against her slightly, "I'll protect ya."

Andrea smiled faintly at T-Dog, not knowing that he was as good with kids as he had just proved, and then leaned down to press her lips to Dean's tousled hair, "Thanks, Dean. It's good to know that I have a Dixon looking out for me." The child seemed to light up at the last sentence, and he let his guard down even more, and pressed his cheek into her arm.

It felt like nothing she had ever experienced before, and Andrea found herself lost for words as the boy relaxed himself against her, and his eyes slipped closed.

Dean was still on the defensive side though, his good hand clenched into a fist, and his expression not completely untensed, even in sleep, but it was a huge step. Her free hand hovered slightly for a moment once she was sure that he was asleep, before she decided to gently stroke his hair.

The kid flinched in his sleep, but didn't completely pull away from her, as if the thought of affection was alien to his subconscious.

Andrea continued to carefully run her hand though his hair, remembering how she had loved it when her mother had done it to her as a child, and wondered if Dean had ever had a woman show affection for him. It sounded as if it had been mostly Daryl who had cared for the boy, and he didn't seem like the most outwardly affectionate person.

Though, she had been proved wrong in just about everything that she had assumed about Daryl, so Andrea decided to keep her thoughts to herself.

_God, she hoped Daryl would find them_.

.

Daryl could feel Carl shaking as he clung to him, but he didn't slow down the bike until they were on the highway, and a few miles away from the farm.

When he finally did stop the bike, Carl stumbled a foot or so away from him, and threw up on the side of the road. Daryl watched the horizon, crossbow trained and ready, keeping the kid in his sights, "Ya okay, kid?" He grunted out, glancing back at Carl when he stopped heaving, and moved back closer towards Daryl.

"Uh, yeah. I just—thanks, Daryl."

"Yer dad say anythin' about where they were gon' go when he was packin' up the car? Which direction?" Carl shook his head, and pulled out the gun he'd been using to shoot at the walkers, meaning to put in into a more secure pocket. Daryl squinted at it, and scowled, "Tha' my gun? The one I was missin'?"

Carl froze in the middle of putting the gun away, and looked instantly guilty, "I, uh, I took it by mistake."

"There ain't no thing as takin' something by mistake, kid. Trust me." Daryl snorted with laughter, and scanned the area around them again.

"I mean, I took it and then I was going to give it back, but my dad and Shane told me to keep it. And then I was afraid that you would get mad, like you are now, and I… I'm sorry." Carl held the gun out to him, head bowed to the ground in shame.

Daryl watched him carefully, and shook his head, "I ain't mad, Carl, ain't even close. Ya don't want ta see me when I'm mad, if ya think this is bad." He pushed the gun back towards the boy, and nodded his head towards the motorbike, "Keep it. Damn thing probably saved yer life today. Now, c'mon, we'll head in this direction, an' hopefully we'll come across yer folks soon enough."

They got back on the bike in silence, Carl still shaky from his close call with the walkers, and Daryl thinking about Dean.

He had no way of knowing where the kid was, or which way T-Dog had decided to drive off in. Would they have taken the highway, or backroads? Would they have stopped in other abandoned farm, or shop buildings in the small town? Daryl hoped Dean wasn't panicking without him already.

There was no way of telling whether Andrea and T-Dog would be good with him, whether they would know how to handle an emotional Dean. The kid could be stubborn, closed off, and defensive at the best of times. And then sometimes, Dean could talk someone's ear off, chattering away about meaningless things that meant nothing to others but so much to him. Daryl smiled sadly for a second, at the thought of Dean, but forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

He had to find Rick and Lori first, so he could get Carl back to them. Then he would focus on getting Dean back, and finding somewhere safe for the two of them. Maybe he would invite the whole group, and they could start afresh. Somewhere where they wouldn't have to struggle for survival every second of the day.

Daryl tightened his grip on the handlebars of the bike, as he remembered Patricia's screams, Shane's insane shouts, and the trailer door ripped off its hinges.

_He had tried. _He had tried so hard to save them. If they'd been better prepared, if they hadn't let their guard down, if he had tried harder… maybe…

But he couldn't focus on that either, couldn't spare a moment to wallow in the self-loathing that bubbled up within him. He _should_ have saved them. No. he had to get Carl back to his parents, and he had to get Dean back to him, and then he would allow himself to feel guilt.

Daryl took a deep breath in, the wind in his face and the bike roaring loudly, and refused to think about those who hadn't made it.

.

They drove for an hour, Carl's head resting against his back, and Daryl keeping a careful eye on the road.

It was pitch dark, apart from the beam of light that came from the motorbike's front light, and Daryl didn't dare to slow down. Carl alternated from looking around into the darkness to dozing off, to clutching on as tight as he could.

Daryl wanted to pull over for a minute, when he felt Carl shivering against him, but he couldn't take the risk. Not until they found the others, and had safety in numbers.

They just ploughed on through the blackness, and hoped to see signs of the group, Daryl scanning every car that they passed by as carefully as he could. The walkers had decreased in numbers since leaving the farm, but Daryl still had to swerve around a few grabbing hands, rotting fingers reaching out towards Carl's trembling body.

It was a grim journey, one that was tainted by blackness and cold, but fuelled by determination and a need to see their loved ones.

He was _going_ to get that kid back to his parents.

.

When Daryl spotted lights in the distance, a surge of relief rushed through him, and he grinned as Carl let out a whoop of excitement.

"Careful, kid, we don't know if they're ours or not… 'm gon' ride right past them, in case they ain't the friendly type, but I'll turn back 'round if its yer parents, okay?" Carl nodded against his back, and sat up straighter as they neared the glow of lights.

Daryl sped past the group of people on the bike, not wanting to take any chances if they were hostile strangers, but he knew that it was their group from the loud shout of joy, and the arms that were thrown up in the air as they rode past. _Glenn_.

By the time he had turned the bike around, and was slowing to a halt beside the group, Lori was sobbing, and Carl was shaking in his eagerness to get off the bike. Daryl didn't move as the kid scrambled off the back of the bike and straight into his mother's arms, his eyes scanning the faces that were crowding around him.

Dean wasn't there.

He could barely manage to shake Rick's hand as the realisation hit him, and Daryl was forced to swallow hard. He brushed off Rick's thanks with a nod, and looked again for Dean, though he knew it was pointless. There was only two cars parked on the edge of the road, the one that Glenn and Hershel's family had occupied, and Grimes'.

The pickup truck that he had bundled Dean into was nowhere to be seen.

Glenn and Maggie were holding onto each other tightly, while Beth pressed against her father, and cried softly. Rick looked down at him carefully, and asked quickly, "Shane? Dale?"

He shook his head, and felt that same stab of guilt run through him. Carol let out a sob when she saw his face, and Daryl knew that she had to have been thinking of Dale, who'd been trapped in the RV that he had refused to leave.

He _should_ have tried harder to save them.

.

Daryl watched as Jimmy leaned against one of the cars in the background, his face unreadable and closed off, the penknife in his hands. It was bloody, and Jimmy's clothes were stained dark, but that was a good sign. He had survived. But the teenager seemed to have isolated himself from the rest of the group, from the people who'd become like family to him, and Daryl knew that feeling well.

He knew what it was like to stand on the outside of the group, staring in and silently suffering as they all supported each other. Daryl chose it though, chose to be the one on the outside, and to not get close to anyone.

After a moment, Jimmy looked up to meet Daryl's gaze, and he gave him a quick nod. It was one that symbolised thanks, and regret, and something else that Daryl couldn't quite place.

He got off the bike, stretching out his back with a grunt, and skilfully sidestepped Lori's attempt at a hug, and Carol's hand that went out to touch his arm. Daryl paused to grab a shirt from the overfilled saddlebags, and tossed it at Carl, remembered the boy's shivers and silent complaints of coldness. He then made his way over to Jimmy, who was now staring at the ground, and looked back over at the group, "That yer first kill, boy?"

"Yeah." Jimmy's voice was strangled and full of guilt, and his eyes filled with tears, "I… Please tell me that it gets easier. I can't—I don't know what to think about myself."

Daryl considered the question, "It don't get easier. Ya jus' get easier at dealing with it. The walkers, they ain't people no more. It still hurts ya when ya drive a knife through a skull, or shoot an arrow at them, but it gets easier ta ignore tha' feeling. You'll get used ta it. Ya have ta, otherwise you'll end up being walker food sooner or later."

"I… I just left Patricia there. She was screaming, and I—I just pulled Hershel away, and left her to _die_."

He shrugged, and watched the tortured emotions flicker across Jimmy's face. "She was gone. Once yer bit, there ain't nothin' anyone can do. It weren't yer fault tha' she wasn't fast enough. Jus' how things go, ya either get bit, or ya don't."

Jimmy frowned and flicked the knife open and closed, not saying anything else.

So Daryl just stood there beside him, keeping an eye on the darkness as he aimed his crossbow, the others talking quietly behind him and Jimmy. The ache in his chest intensified with each second that he was apart from Dean, but he tried to reassure his fears. Dean was safe.

And Daryl would come for him.

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_So, I hope this was okay. It took me a little longer to write, mostly because every time I tried to write 'T-Dog', I would type _T_-_God_, and Jimmy kept coming out as _Jummy_! I would love to know what you guys thought of this though, your feedback keeps me going :)_

_Also, I wrote a small little ficlet based on a moment in this week's episode, centred around Daryl and his past, that you guys can check out here, if you're interested, www._saintsandrocksalt . tumblr . com-slash-post –slash- 36602815790-slash- daryl-had-always-been-good-at-dodging . _Apologies for butchering that link!_ _That's my tumblr there, saintsandrocksalt, for any of you guys on tumblr!_

_I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey guys :) So, I think that this chapter has to be dedicated to _MntlCaSe,_ who left me such a nice review about twenty seconds before I was about to update this! Thanks again for all the other reviews, I really appreciate them. Hope you all enjoy this chapter._

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They stayed on the side of the road all night.

Huddled together in the cars, most of the group tried to sleep, despite the overwhelming sense of fear and despair that hung over them. Carol cried quietly for an hour or so, and Beth was huddled up in Maggie's arms all night, but no one was dead, and Daryl couldn't bring himself to care beyond that.

Daryl stayed up all night, sitting on the hood of one of the cars, his crossbow beside him and stared out into the darkness.

He needed Dean. The air was cold, but his blood ran hot with anger and a need to do something. But his bike was running low on gas, and the group was barely holding themselves together, and he couldn't leave them, not just yet.

So he just sat there, holding onto his crossbow with loose fingers, and narrowed his eyes.

The others had tried to divide the night up into watches, but after the first two people tried to take over from him, Daryl managed to convince them that he wasn't going to sleep anyway. It ended up being just him, alone, as the sun began to rise, and the frigid air became more bearable.

Jimmy was the first to wake, and he emerged quietly out of the front seat of Hershel's car, and crept over to where Daryl was sitting. He folded himself down onto the ground, and sat with his head resting against the license plate.

"Rough night?" Daryl grunted out, his voice hoarse and cracked.

The teenager let out a bark of a laugh, and ran a hand over his face, "Very funny."

Daryl watched as Jimmy stared blankly into the distance, much the same as he himself had been doing for the whole night. The kid couldn't have been more than seventeen, and the innocence that Daryl had noticed in him early on seemed to be long gone.

His clothes were splattered with blood and dirt, his hair messed up from the tidy hairstyle that he had used to sport, and his hands were flipping the pocket knife open and closed. Open and closed. Open and closed.

"Ya even know how ta used tha' thing?" Daryl asked gruffly, nodding towards the small weapon that he had given him. Jimmy shrugged, and mimed a stabbing motion with a blank expression on his face. "Nah, I mean properly. Go on, stand up an' fuckin' do it."

Jimmy glanced down at the knife, an unreadable expression on his face, and seemed to be debating whether or not to follow Daryl's directions, "Whatever." His tone was dull and quiet, one that Daryl had heard himself use too many times, when he couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

He watched as Jimmy stood, arms handing listlessly at his side, and squinted at him, "Get inta a proper stance, legs apart, like yer a fuckin' tree or something. Yeah, that's right. Now pretend that yer stabbing someone—no, ya gotta aim higher than tha'. It's gotta be th'brain." The teenager actually followed his instructions, frowning in concentration as he braced himself, and listened carefully, "That's good. Ya gotta stand yer ground, otherwise yer gonna tip yerself over on yer first kill. Tha' ain't gon' be no good if yer taking down several at a time."

"Why are you doing this?"

Daryl did another scan of the area for walkers, and looked back at Jimmy, seeing the devastation all over the kid's face, "Don't need no more casualties. If yer gon' be with us on the road, yer gon' need ta learn how ta protect yerself properly."

.

When Rick stumbled out of the car, he was surprised to see Jimmy moving through a number of defensive techniques, while Daryl sat on the hood of one of the cars, and watched.

"What's going on here?" He asked as he walked over, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Jimmy turned quickly, and his face changed instantly. The grim smile that had been on his face, one that Rick knew symbolised pain but also a sliver of happiness at the same time, switched off, and Rick was left staring at an expressionless Jimmy. He scowled, and stuffed the pocket knife into his pocket.

"I need ta leave, Rick," Daryl hopped off the hood of the car with more grace than Rick had expected, and grabbed his crossbow, "I havta find Dean, I havta. I left him with Andrea and T, they were leavin' first an' I couldn't take the kid on the bike."

Rick nodded slowly, "I know. They probably took the backroads, so we'll have to retrace their—"

"No, I have ta go now. Kid's gon' be freakin' out by now, an' I promised that I'd come get him. I jus' need some more gas, an' then we can arrange somewhere ta meet up when I find them. I stayed the night cause everyone needed ta be safe an' reassured, but I ain't waitin' around no more. I'll go huntin' now, get some food, but then I have ta _go_."

He watched the look on Daryl's face, as the man cut him off and took a step forward. The guilt on his face was so clear and undisguised that it left Rick speechless for a moment.

"Okay, we appreciate it, Daryl."

Then Daryl turned swiftly, and was stalking into the woods that lined the highway within a few seconds, "Won't be gone fer more than an hour." He muttered, and then disappeared into the treeline, crossbow aimed and ready.

Rick sighed heavily as the rest of the group started to emerge from the cars and head towards them. He looked over at Jimmy, as the boy retreated back a few steps, until he was leaning against the car, "Did Daryl teach you anything useful this morning?" Jimmy grunted, and shrugged, gripping the pocket knife tightly again. Open and closed. Open and closed.

The action seemed to ground him slightly, and Jimmy kept repeating it. Open and closed, open and closed.

He was distracted by the repetitive motion of the knife when Lori came up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his chest, "What's the plan?" She whispered, and he took a deep breath, before turning back around to the rest of the group.

"Daryl has gone hunting, to see if he can find something for breakfast," The unsure faces looking at him made Rick want to falter and hesitate, but he pressed on, "Then he's going to go find T-Dog, Andrea, and Dean, while we find somewhere to hole up for a while. Look, everyone, I know that things seem impossible right now. We lost some good people back at the farm, and nothing that I say is going to make that any better. But we have to keep going. We have to press on, and survive. I know that we can do this."

Rick watched out of the corner of his eye, as Jimmy went to put an arm around Beth's skinny shoulders, but she shrugged him away. The look on his face was completely crushed, and he stepped back another few steps. The pocket knife came out again, and he stared at the ground carefully, while Beth huddled up closer to Maggie. Open and closed, open and closed.

"Okay, everyone, lets gather up all our supplies, see what we've got left."

The result was pitiful. They had one tent, three sleeping bags, a sweater or two, a couple of hand guns, and a painfully small amount of food. Not nearly enough to go around. There looked to be more supplies in the packed saddle bags on the motorbike, but no one wanted to rifle through Daryl's things while he was off hunting. Rick swallowed hard, and composed himself. If they were going to make it through this, he needed to stay strong.

He sent a few people off to gather firewood, staying as close to 'camp' as they could, and the rest got to work dividing up the last morsels of food. Carl was still wandering around in Daryl's spare shirt, and trying not to stare longingly at the food.

It was only when everyone had eaten their share of the crackers and cereal bars, that Rick realised that none of them had put any food aside for Daryl.

Rick prayed that Daryl would come back with some game.

.

Daryl stomped through the trees, six squirrels hanging off his back, impatient to get back to the road.

He had to _leave_, had to find Dean. Daryl had done as much as he could for the group, had saved Carl, watched over them, and now was fucking feeding them. Dean needed him now, and he wouldn't stop until he had located the kid, and he was in his arms.

Rick greeted him with a smile of relief when Daryl tossed the string of squirrels at him, and grabbed the gas can off the ground. "There's a cabin a mile or two in that direction," He pointed vaguely as he filled up the gas tank of his bike, and secured his crossbow on his back. "River close by as well."

Then Daryl sorted through the saddle bags, tossing two bottles of water and a blanket at Carl, without looking at the kid.

He started up his bike, taking a second to nod at the group members, all of whom were standing around and staring at him, "I'll be back in a day or so with the others. Don't get eaten by walkers."

Daryl was speeding back in the direction of the farm a minute afterwards, heading towards the back roads that he remembered seeing on one of the maps a few days ago. He didn't wait for any thanks, or anything else that the group would have to say to him. He didn't care.

He just had to find Dean.

That was Daryl's sole purpose then, the whole reason that he was still breathing. He just needed Dean, just needed to hug that kid again and never let him go. Daryl refused to entertain the possibility that T-Dog might not have been able to protect him, couldn't even contemplate the thought of not seeing his kid again.

Because that was just unacceptable, and not an option.

.

Andrea glanced through the window of the car, to see Dean still curled up on his side, fast asleep.

"What are we going to do?"

The man opposite her sighed, and ran a hand over his bald head, "I don't know. But we can't head back towards the farm, we just can't. A herd that big… that's just suicide." They stood in silence for a few more minutes, unsure of what to do, "Maybe we should hunker down for a day or two, give Daryl a chance to find us."

"For all we know Daryl could be dead. Of course I'm not going to say that to Dean, but we have to think realistically here. We didn't see him get out. There had to be over a hundred walkers, and we left him there." Andrea wiped at a tear in her eye, and tried to keep her voice down, "For all we know, the whole group could be gone."

Neither of them looked inside the car again, otherwise they would have seen Dean, tears streaming down his face, head resting against T-Dog's jacket, just listening. The kid curled himself up into an even tighter ball, and chewed on his thumb, body shaking slightly with sobs.

.

_So, I hope this chapter was okay! I may have sacrificed a good grade in my chemistry test tomorrow to write this, but… I regret nothing. I have bigger exams coming up soon, but I'll try my best to have another chapter of this up during the week. Would love to see some feedback from you guys, it really helps me to write faster! Thanks for all the alerts and favourites as well :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews from the last chapter, hope you enjoy this one!_

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It was cold.

Andrea pulled her sweater tighter around her, and pulled Dean the smallest bit closer. The young boy resisted her gentle tug for a moment, before giving in, and letting Andrea pull him onto her lap. His cheek rested against her neck for a split second, and she frowned at how icy cold his skin was.

But then Dean jerked away, as if realising something suddenly, and removed himself from her hold. He pulled his knees into his chest, and let his head fall into his hands.

She had to force herself not to reach out and stroke his hair. The child wouldn't react well to physical contact at that moment, Andrea was sure of it. But Dean was shivering again, despite having T-Dog's shirt wrapped around him, and his injured wrist was tucked up close to his body.

Then Andrea got it. Dean used to press his head into Daryl's shoulder, liked to escape things by searching out the comfort of Daryl's shirt or neck, and when Dean had burrowed closer to her, well… she wasn't Daryl.

Knowing that she could do next to nothing for the young boy, who hadn't spoken a word all night, Andrea just sighed, and tried to get comfortable. She and T-Dog had returned to the truck a few hours ago, while Dean had been asleep, and things had changed then.

When Dean had woken, he'd been surly and silent, refusing to say anything. The kid was fast developing Daryl's scowl, a fact that hadn't even prompted a smile out of him when Andrea had jokingly mentioned it to him as an ice-breaker.

T-Dog had taken over trying to get through to Dean, after Andrea had run out of ideas, but the other man didn't get any further than she did. Any attempts they had made at getting the boy to speak to them had been ignored, Dean just staring into space or squeezing his eyes closed as he chewed on his thumb.

So when it had gotten dark, T-Dog had taken the first watch, sitting out in the truck bed with the one handgun that they had between them.

That left Andrea and Dean in the truck cab alone, both trying to get some sleep during the early hours of the morning.

"Dean, do you want some water? There's a bit left in the bottle," The kid turned carefully to look at her through those guarded eyes, and shook his head, "Do you want me to get you anything? Do you need my jacket? You look cold, Dean, and you're pale." There was no reply, "Dean, please, I'm trying my best, please don't shut down like this, please, I—"

He looked at her again, lowering his thumb from his mouth, and blinked slowly, "I want Daryl."

Andrea felt a stack of emotions slam into her heart, and her face softened into sympathy, "I know, Dean, I know. But he's not here at the moment, and he left T-Dog and me to take care of you, and I just want to make sure that you're okay. I'm sure Daryl is on his way."

"No… you're not. You said that he was probably dead. I _heard_ you. You said that he probably wasn't coming because we left him… You said it! You said that he was dead, and that he wasn't coming, because you drove off without him! You said it! You said it!"

She felt her mouth drop open in shock, but was unable to form any coherent words, "Dean, I—"

"You said it! You said that _Daryl wasn't coming_, and that we couldn't go back for him. You said it!"

T-Dog wrenched open the door then, and his eyes widened at the sight of Dean screaming his head off, face going red. "What's—" At that moment, Dean took the opportunity to slip out of the vehicle under T-Dog's arm, and jump out of the truck.

He hit the ground running, arms pumping strongly, and Andrea felt fear wash through her, pure icy terror.

"_Dean_!" She screamed, and stumbled out of the truck, "Dean!" Andrea started running, but she was clumsy with panic, and only succeeded in tripping and hitting the ground hard, "Dean, no!"

T-Dog shot past her, and caught up to the small boy within seconds. He scooped Dean up into his arms, and stood still for a moment, just holding the now sobbing child. When he did finally start walking back to the truck, Andrea found the strength to pick herself off the ground, and meet them halfway.

She pulled both of them into a tight hug, and could feel the sobs that were shaking Dean's small body. T-Dog gently transferred Dean into her arms, and Andrea hugged him tightly, feeling all the tension and worry radiating out from the small boy.

"I'm sorry," She whispered into his scruffy hair, "I'm so sorry."

Dean just pressed his head into her shoulder, and cried his eyes out, "I w-want _Daryl_." His voice was hoarse and painful sounding, and his sobs were gut-wrenching.

"He's coming, Dean, he's coming. I'm sure of it."

.

Daryl felt his eyes water as he sped down the road, but he just gripped the handlebars of the bike tighter, and forced himself to open his eyes wider.

He had been awake for… God only know how many hours, and the exhaustion was beginning to hit him. It wasn't as if he'd been sleeping for more than an hour or so back at the camp anyway, and now it seemed like everything was catching back up on him. Daryl could feel every bump in the road that the bike went over, and every jolt of pain that it sent up his back and into his head, fuelling his growing headache.

The back-roads that he'd been methodically driving down for hours were full of unexpected turns and pot-holes, something that Daryl wasn't sure he could handle in his state of tiredness. More than once, the road had started to blur, or he'd seen doubles, but his goal was far more pressing than the various signs of exhaustion that plagued him. He didn't care about anything but the one thing that he had ever cared about – _Dean_. He had to find his kid.

Daryl felt his eyes well up with tears for a different reason, and he lifted a hand for a moment, to scrub them away.

He couldn't allow himself to get emotional, it would only cloud his judgement.

Just as he had wiped his arm across his face, Daryl noticed a sharp bend coming up in the road, one that hadn't been immediately visible due to the darkness and poor visibility. He let out a curse, arm dropping back down to grab the handlebar quickly, but it was too late.

He took the turn too wide, and ended up skidding down the road uncontrollably, the sound of screeching metal deafening in the middle of the apocolapse.

One pothole took him down. Daryl bit his lip as the bike crashed on its side, to keep himself from making any unnecessary noise, and let his body go limp as he was thrown off the motorcycle. He let his breath out quickly, knowing from experience that it would keep him from becoming too winded, and then felt the hard impact with the road.

Daryl didn't move for a moment when it was over. He just lay there for two minutes, breathing heavily and trying to gauge his injuries without moving. He knew that no one was going to come for him, that he was the one who was supposed to come for them, and let everything sink in.

Then he forced himself into a sitting position, then onto his knees, and then rose shakily onto his feet.

The world spun for a second, but Daryl kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, and his gaze fixated on a point in the distance. He could do this, he could do this, Daryl had a plan. He _had_ to find Dean.

The first step was the hardest.

Daryl's right leg screamed out in agony, almost buckling underneath him, but he managed to stay upright. Blood was running down the side of his face, but it wasn't getting in his eyes, so Daryl left it. His crossbow had stayed strapped to his back, and he clutched onto it with white knuckles. Then came another step, and then another.

He made it back to the bike after a few painful limps, his face taunt with agony. It took him another minute, and a pained moan, to lift the bike back up from where it had skidding along the road.

Taking a deep breath, Daryl swung one leg over the side of the bike, and could almost feel the blood draining out of his face.

_Dean_. He was doing this to get to Dean.

Daryl started up the bike again, his breath coming out in hitches, and rode off into the darkness once again, a scowl firmly fixed on his face.

.

_I hope that was okay for everyone :) It was a bit shorter than my usual chapter length, but my exams start tomorrow, and I'm stretching myself thin. I'll try have the next chapter up within the next week or so, but can't make any promises! I would love to have some feedback in my inbox to wake up to tomorrow from you guys :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	12. Chapter 12

_I hope people are still interested in this._

.

Rick stood beside the window of the cabin, and looked outside.

It was a small, two roomed shack in the middle of the woods, smelling of rotting wood and dampness, but it was relatively dry and safe. It didn't smell of rotting corpses, there were three tins of peaches in a cupboard, and that was all that they needed.

The group had spread out marginally, and Rick let the faded curtain fall back over the window as he turned around. Carl and Lori were sitting on the dusty bed, curled into each other, while Carol on the floor leaning back on the bed, her eyes closed. Maggie and Glenn were also in each other's arms, Glenn rocking her back and forward slowly. Opposite them, Beth was clutching onto her father, while he stroked her hair and acted like things were going to be okay.

That just left Jimmy.

The teenager was sitting alone, staring at the pocket knife Daryl had given him. Rick didn't think that the boy had left go of the thing in hours. It was just clenched in his fist, while Jimmy leaned against one of the cabin walls, and let his gaze go blank.

When they'd first found the cabin Daryl had pointed them in the direction of, Rick had watched as Jimmy had tried to be close to Beth. He had linked his hand into hers, had tried to sit close to her, had attempted to speak quietly to her. But it was obvious to everyone that Beth was in shock, and so Jimmy had retreated to the corner.

Rick had only known Jimmy for a few weeks, but it was painfully clear that something about the previous night had changed him.

Whether it was the walkers, the harsh wakeup call to the world they were now in, or the deaths, Jimmy was different. He seemed far away from the grinning seventeen year old that Rick had been introduced to, so far gone from that image of himself.

It was the sad reality of this world. That in one second, in only a few minutes, someone could be changed. Lives were devastated in moments, family ripped apart in mere seconds. Damage that was once shattering, had turned into sad normality.

Daryl had been able to get through to him, Rick realised. Daryl had been able to talk to Jimmy, had had him practicing defensive techniques in the early morning. Somehow, Jimmy had connected with Daryl, something that he hadn't been able to do with anyone else since the night before.

"Walker."

The words came from Glenn, who was sitting beside the other dirty window, and made everyone snap up their heads. Jimmy and Rick both headed straight for the window, where they saw a lone walker, stumbling around and groaning.

Rick paused for a split second, and then said, "I've got i—"

But before Rick could finish his sentence, Jimmy was ducking silently out the door, pocketknife held tightly in his hand. Beth let out a scream, and scrambled to her feet, bolting over to the window, her whole body trembling "Jimmy, _no_!"

A hand on his shoulder stopped Rick from running out after the teenager, and he turned to see Glenn shaking his head. _Give him a chance_, Glenn's expression implied, so Rick decided to give the kid a shot. He stood at the door, watching, along with the rest of the group pressed up against the window.

Jimmy walked slowly towards the walker, a careful smile on his face. He flicked the pocket knife open. The undead creature snarled, and reached out for him with grabbing, rotting hands. Jimmy stepped back quickly, and then lunged forward, knocking both himself and the walker down onto the cold ground, raising the knife up to stab it into the walker's eyeball. He plunged it in as hard as he could, holding on with ruthless intent, and didn't move until the thing stopped twitching underneath him.

The whole group stared at him, stunned.

Then Jimmy stood up slowly, and looked back down at the walker. He wiped the gore from the knife onto his already bloody jeans, and then flicked the pocket knife closed. Open and closed. Open and closed. He turned around slowly to see all the people looking back at him, and bit his bottom lip.

He began to walk back towards the cabin, but stopped just before he entered it, for no apparent reason. Jimmy sat down beside the door, resting his head back against the exterior of the cabin, and flicked the pocket knife open and closed. Open and closed.

"You all don't want me in there."

.

Andrea held Dean tightly in her arms, and she pushed herself between the dashboard and seat.

Beside her, T-Dog was trying to make himself seem as small as possible as well, "I heard a vehicle coming, sounded loud. We have to get down, get out of sight, in case—"

"It's Daryl!" The kid yelled, and tried to pull away from Andrea, "Daryl came back for us, he came back!" Dean squirmed and kicked out at T-Dog, hitting him in the stomach. The man let out a _oomph_ and gave Andrea a meaningful look.

She winced, and tried to shush the boy. They couldn't afford to take the risk. On the off chance that it wasn't Daryl coming for them, they didn't have the power to defend themselves against other groups. They had one knife, and a handgun with three bullets in it, and that wouldn't do much against numerous people if a group intended to do damage.

Dean cried and thrashed in her arms, but there wasn't much space for either of them, and he stopped yelling after T-Dog pressed his finger against the boy's lips and made an urgent expression.

The sound of a vehicle came closer, and for a moment, all Andrea could hear was the roaring of an engine, and all she could process was the feeling of Dean trembling in her arms. She held her breath, and resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut.

Instead, Andrea stared into T-Dog's eyes, and prayed.

.

He slowed down the bike when he caught sight of the truck, and narrowed his eyes.

The blood was drying on his face, and his leg was numb, but Daryl still managed to stop the bike, and manoeuvre himself off it. He shrugged out of the crossbow strap, and cocked the weapon, eye narrowed against the scope. He painfully limped forward a step, scanning the area for any signs of life.

Daryl was sure that the truck in front of him was the one that T-Dog and Andrea had driven away in. He could see the supplies that they'd packed in the truck bed. But there was no one around, no sounds, nothing to indicate that they were there. The door to the cab swung open in the stiff breeze.

His leg was dragging behind him, the pain rising up to new levels, but Daryl staggered on, holding the crossbow up with strong arms.

As he got nearer to the truck, he steeled himself for what may come. There didn't seem to be evidence of a crash, or foul play, or walkers, but one could never be too sure. There was no room for second chances in this world, not any more.

Daryl wondered if he'd be able to do it, if he'd be able to open the door to find nothing, or everything. He felt his stomach churn at the mere thought of Dean being… or being turned.

Banishing all thoughts from his mind, aside from trying to force his body to move, Daryl bared his teeth slightly, and prepared to kick open the door of the truck, and aim his crossbow inside. He had to be reading. He had to be focused. He had to—

The sound of a whimper stilled him.

He dropped the crossbow down to be aimed at the ground, and called out, "Dean? Y'in there?"

There was a scream, a grunt of pain, and then Dean came hurtling out of the truck, tears streaming down his face. Daryl didn't think, just dropped to one knee, and felt himself breathe properly for the first time in days when Dean smashed into his arms and held on tightly.

His world dissolved into simple things, into Dean and shaking, and just holding him. Sounds drained away, and all Daryl was left with was the feeling of relief and the fear of what could have been. Dean's head was pressed into his neck, his tiny body trembling, and his mouth open in a silent scream.

And Daryl just held him, and thanked whatever God had brought them back together.

After a few minutes, he became aware of Andrea and T-Dog climbing out of the truck cab, and of Andrea bursting into tears. T-Dog was grinning goofily, and hugging Andrea, who was still crying, and everything seemed okay.

Daryl had his kid back, and that was all that mattered.

.

It was when he went to stand up, that the problems arose.

Daryl attempted to get back into a standing position from where he was kneeling carefully, but his injured leg wasn't cooperating, and he let out a grunt of pain and faltered. His right leg flared with agony again, and Dean let out a scared whine and clutched at him tighter.

"Oh shit, man, are you okay?" T-Dog noticed the blood crusted on the side of his face then, and lurched forward to help him. A hand was suddenly under his elbow to support him, and before he knew what was happening, T-Dog was lifting him to his feet.

Then Andrea was up in his face, tears still running down hers, and trying to get a better look at his head wound. Daryl batted her away easily, Dean still wrapped around him, and swayed on his feet.

He scowled and shook his head, "This ain't nothin'. Jus' fell off m'bike on my way ta get you all. The others're holed up in a cabin, back down th' road."

"Daryl, that looks serious… and you're limping too. You need to get Hershel to have a look at you, when we get back. You look really banged up." Andrea told him in as stern a voice as she could muster up, while wiping tears off her cheeks.

T-Dog looked up solemnly then, and asked the one question that he had been dreading, "Who'd we lose?"

He swallowed hard, and gripped Dean just a bit tighter, "Dale. Shane. Patricia."

Daryl watched as each of them deflated a bit more with the news, and hated himself a bit more inside. His mouth burned with the names, and his head throbbed. He could still hear Patricia's screams, could still see the RV being overrun, could still smell the gunpowder as Shane lost the last of his sanity.

"I'm sorry."

.

It took a few more minutes for the news to sink in, and more tears to be shed. The grief hadn't even really begun to set in, not yet.

Then Daryl shifted Dean on his hip, and said gruffly, "Ya ready ta go back ta the others?" They both nodded, and Dean didn't even respond, too wound up to do anything but cry. "They're jus' off the highway, the other side of the farm from here."

"Okay, okay." Andrea wiped more tears from her cheeks, and gave a tiny smile, "I'm so glad that you and Dean are back together."

Daryl smiled at that, and then looked at T-Dog, "Ya mind drivin' m'bike back? I dunno if I'll be able ta…" He gestured towards Dean, but also at his injuries, and the other man winced and nodded. T-Dog caught the keys carefully as they were thrown to him, and grinned widely again.

He tried hard not to think about what Merle would have to say if he saw Daryl giving the keys to his bike to T-Dog.

The truck took a few minutes to start up properly, which Daryl spent with his head pressed into Dean's back, just breathing him in. His nephew was still mostly unresponsive, something which Andrea expressed her worry for, but Daryl only shook his head, "He'll come outta it. The kid always does. He jus'—he jus' needs me right now. I can get him out of it." She nodded at his explanation, but the concerned frown never left her face, so he spoke up again, "Thanks fer lookin' out fer him. I can't thank ya enough."

"It's okay. Dean's… a complicated kid. I didn't know how much work kids were until the world ended, and then—I was terrified that you wouldn't find us. That he could hate me, and that I couldn't be able to take care of him. I was terrified. But he just had so much faith, and—thank goodness you came. _Thank you_, Daryl, for coming back."

Andrea burst into tears again, and rested her head against the steering wheel for a second.

He stretched out an arm, and awkwardly put it around her as well, slightly surprised when she leaned into him for support. "s'okay. I'm here now, ain't I"?" Andrea nodded against his arm, and took a few deep breaths, wincing when T-Dog honked the horn loudly.

Daryl watched her pull herself together, push down the pain of the ones they'd lost, and focus on driving. He felt his crossbow bump against his leg, and Dean curl up against him, and closed his eyes carefully, exhaustion hitting him suddenly.

"Hey, Daryl?" He grunted in reply, and Andrea took it as a sign to continue, "Why didn't you ask me to drive the bike? Do you think T-Dog is a better driver? Is it because he's a guy?"

Letting out an irritated groan, Daryl cracked one eye open painfully, "Yer kiddin' if ya think I'm gonna trust ya with m'bike, Blondie. Ya can't see fer shit with tears in yer eyes. I can see ya still cryin' now." He scoffed slightly, "Good Lord."

.

_Okay guys, so I'm back. Huge apologies for the long wait, I'm not going to bore you with my excuses. But I have a plan for this, and am feeling motivated by the New Year._

_I'd really appreciate any feedback, even if you've only just discovered this story, or have never reviewed it before. So many of you have alerted this, and I want to say a huge thank you to anyone who decides that this story is worth any of their time. I really appreciate it, guys._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	13. Chapter 13

_Hey guys, thanks for all the amazing reviews from the last chapter – I loved them all._

.

Daryl could feel Dean's warm body pressed up against him, could feel his nephew taking in deep breaths as he slept on, and that was enough for him. He kept one eye looking in the rear-view mirror to check that T-Dog was still following them on his, on _Merle's_, bike, while he directed Andrea.

The pounding in his head had lessened slightly since he'd found Dean, but he could feel the blood dried on his face, and his injured leg was stiffening up in the truck cab.

"Turn right here," Daryl grunted, lifting a hand to gesture at the trail that led off the motorway, "Look, there's the rest 'a the cars."

She listened to his instructions, guiding the car down the trail until they reached the cluster of other cars, which the rest of the group had tried to park out of sight. Andrea then stopped the car slowly, and looked over at Daryl and Dean carefully. "Do you want—I mean, will I take him, or are you—"

He shook his head sharply, and opened the truck door, "I got 'im."

T-Dog joined them after a moment, tossing the motorbike keys over to Daryl with a windswept look on his face. Catching the keys with his one free hand, Daryl tried to ignore the look of elation on the other man's face, as he said, "Wow, that is one _nice_ bike, man. I mean—really, where did you pick up that beauty?"

"It's Merle's," Daryl replied gruffly, as he limped forward a few steps, "An' its goin' back ta him when I find 'im, so you best be gettin' that love-struck look off yer face."

He smirked slightly at the sight of T-Dog's 'deer in headlights' expression, and headed down the dirt track that lead to the cabin. The other two followed in silence, the only noises being the sound of the leaves crunching under their feet, and Dean's heavy breathing.

It took another ten minutes on foot to reach the small hut in the middle of the woods, minutes that Daryl spent in complete concentration to avoid stumbling and sending him and Dean crashing to the ground. His crossbow was slung across his shoulders, despite Andrea's offer to carry it, and his gaze fixated on the ground before him.

The gasps of relief that were emitted from the two group members behind him alerted Daryl to the fact that the cabin must be visible, and he lifted his heavy head up to see it with a weary smile.

When they got closer, he could see that the figure crouched outside the door was the kid from the farm, Jimmy. He scrambled to his feet the second that he saw Daryl approaching, and looked relieved, the pocket knife clutched in his grip. Daryl nodded slightly at him, and grunted for the kid to open the door, which he did clumsily and quickly. "Thanks," Daryl said gruffly, and then ducked inside the doorway, almost able to taste the possibility of getting some sleep.

The group engulfed the three new arrivers as they walked through the door, just as Daryl knew they would, but he managed to slip out of Carol's hold, and stagger towards the bed.

Daryl nearly made it to the bed without anyone noticing him, but then Andrea had to open her mouth and say loudly, "Wait, Daryl's hurt, he wrecked his motorbike! Daryl!" And then the whole group turned to stare in concern at his scowling face, and practically rush towards him.

"M'fine, nothin' tha' can't wait a few hours," He said dangerously, sitting down hard on the bed, Dean's still wrapped around his neck. Hershel reached out a hand as if to try and turn his head to get a look at his head wound, but Daryl pushed the hand away roughly, and moved back slightly, "I jus' need ta sleep. Good Lord, jus' give me an hour or so, an' then we can deal with this shit."

Dean stirred at the loud voice, and immediately started crying as a reflex, his hand twisting in Daryl's hair and pulling it slightly. Daryl shushed him carefully, and glared at the group, until they backed up a step or two.

He then rearranged himself and Dean so that they were lying side by side on the bed, closing his eyes carefully as Dean clambered up on his chest instead, and draped himself over Daryl. No one moved for a moment or two, until Lori gathered up the courage to quickly drape a musty blanket over the two, both Daryl and Dean seemingly now sound asleep.

Daryl listened with closed eyelids as the group moved around in whispers and treaded carefully around the cabin. He waited until Rick assigned Glenn to take watch, and then ushered the rest of them into the smaller room, leaving Daryl and Dean alone in the room with a quiet Glenn.

Then he let himself sleep properly.

.

Rick explained what had happened to Andrea and T-Dog in quiet tones, as the other sat on the dirty ground, with tears in their eyes at the thought of their dead.

Once the situation had been fully explained, there had been more tears, and words of condolences, until everyone had cried up all their tears, and their ears were ringing with almost fake sounding words of hope and sadness.

While this was going on, Rick noticed Jimmy still sitting in the corner, having entered the cabin just after Daryl. Beth kept shooting glances at him ones that told of hints of fear and hesitation, as she huddled up closer than usual to Carl. His son didn't appear to have realised what was going on, Rick noticed, but still put a skinny arm around Beth and told her that things were going to be okay.

Jimmy saw this, and simply ran his sleeve over his eyes suddenly, as if to wipe away tears, and sniffed slightly, before turning away even more.

He was losing her. Rick could see that the teenager was thinking it, and that Beth was, if unknowingly, pulling away from him.

It was the new nature of the world, that people pulled away and were lost even more easily than before, and Rick felt something pull at his heartstrings to see Jimmy experiencing it right in front of his eyes. The teenager, perhaps to avert his eyes from the sight of his (former) girlfriend slipping away, started to scratch away at the layer of dirt on the floorboards with his fingers, eyes tracing the lines of blood on his jeans.

Then Rick's attention was diverted as he heard some members of the group beginning to ask questions, worried and frightened about their future now. He was going to have to step up.

"Okay, we'll stay here for tonight, until we can get our bearings and get a plan together. I'll give Daryl another hour or so to sleep, he's been awake for days, and then Hershel, if you wouldn't mind checking him over?" The older man nodded his agreement, and his concerned eyes flickered towards the other room. "Okay. So, for now, let's take stock of our supplies and get a plan together. I think we still have four squirrels left from this morning, and a few bottles of water, so those should do us for a while. Is that okay with everyone?"

He left the room as the others began to discuss their supplies, closing the door carefully behind him, and made his way over to Glenn, who was standing guard at the window. The younger man gave him a weak smile, and shook his head to indicate that no walkers were nearby.

Rick let out a sigh of relief, and glanced back at the bed in the corner.

Daryl had one arm draped over his face, and the other slung over Dean, who was sprawled across his uncle's chest. "They're a funny pair, aren't they?" He said quietly to Glenn, with a chuckle.

"They certainly are," Glenn replied, and ran a hand over his face, "How—how are we going to get through this one, Rick? We have barely any supplies, Daryl's been hurt again, I'm pretty sure he's never going to let Dean out of his sight, and we lost—we lost Shane and Dale."

"We'll figure something out. We always do."

.

Later that afternoon, after Daryl was shaken gently awake, Hershel checked him over, despite his complaints.

He had insisted on one thing though, that Hershel would examine Dean's wrist first, which was still wrapped up in dirty gauze. Dean had closed his eyes during the whole ordeal, moving his wrist back and forth when he was instructed, and Daryl had rested his head on the kid's shoulder, telling him over and over quietly that he was proud of him. Hershel had then decided that Dean's wrist was mostly healed, after being in the splint for a few days, and warned the child to take it easy for a week or so.

Then Dean had scrambled off Daryl's lap, and carefully told Hershel to make sure that Daryl was okay. Dean's eyes had been staring into the ground the whole time he'd been speaking to Hershel, but it was a step further nonetheless.

To his credit, Daryl stuck it out through most of the exam, Dean clutching tightly to his hand the whole time, and lazily raised an eyebrow when Hershel was finished, "Am I gon' live then, old man?" He drawled, ruffling Dean's hair with a grin at the kid.

"Yes, Daryl, you're going to live," Hershel sighed in exasperation, humouring him, "That head injury looks quite minor, though you did seem to twist or wrench your knee the wrong way, which would normally lead me to advising you to stay off it for a few days, but…"

Daryl barked out a hoarse laugh, hearing Hershel trail off, "But th' world jus' went an' ended, didn't it?"

He manoeuvred himself to his feet then, and told Rick that he was going to go skin the rest of the squirrels. Glenn had attempted to skin the few that they'd eaten for breakfast that morning, but he'd made a mess out of it, and had had to sheepishly ask Daryl to do the rest.

Dean's hand shot out to hang onto the waistband of Daryl's jeans, unwilling to be separated, but a quick glance around the room had Daryl slowly uncurling the small fingers. He bent down carefully, and said, "Dean, why don't you go over there, and show Carl how to _properly_ finish that jigsaw, huh? C'mon, he's doin' it all wrong."

With a wink over at Carl, who was doing the old and dusty jigsaw that they'd found in one of the cupboards out of pure boredom, Daryl raised his eyebrows at Dean, who shifted carefully. "He does look like he doesn't know how ta do that…" The child said slowly, but was hesitant to move away.

"I'll be right outside, okay?" Daryl explained, "Ya can even look outta th' window an' see me if ya need ta, okay?"

After a bit more gentle persuasion, being observed by the whole group, Dean finally agreed to go play with Carl. Within a few minutes, Carl had the younger boy laughing quietly as he told him bad jokes that he'd heard in last year's Christmas crackers.

The situation was depressing, and it was morbid, and it was grim, but the fact that two kids could still tell jokes and laugh seemed to lift everyone's spirits. All the tears and the fear and the panic seemed to pale in comparison when Dean smiled properly for the first time in days, and their lives got a bit brighter.

There was one thought running through all their heads as they quietly observed Carl and Dean, _maybe we can be okay again_.

.

The whole group crashed early that evening.

Carol was the first to curl up in one of the corners, with a holey blanket and most of the others followed suit. The idea of splitting up to sleep in a different room seemed to make them recoil slightly, so they just crashed around each other, close enough to be assured of the fact that they were all still there.

When most of the group was asleep, Rick stood beside Daryl and T-Dog at the door of the cabin, and just looked at their ragged group.

They looked so broken in sleep, but somehow still strong. Glenn and Maggie were curled up together, sharing an oversized jacket as a blanket, though Maggie's hand was placed lightly on Beth's stomach, and Glenn's foot was touching Andrea's. Lori had one arm around Carl, and her back was pressed against Carol's leg. Jimmy was sprawled out awkwardly by himself, though his fingers were outstretched slightly, as though his subconscious had been trying to reach out to touch Beth's hair.

Around them, the rest of the group members were in similar positions, all lightly brushing or touching someone else, so they could be reassured in sleep. Dean was pressed up to Andrea, though his hand was stretched out as though he was waiting for Daryl to join him.

"What are we really gonna do, Rick?" T-Dog asked quietly, rubbing a hand over his bald head, while Rick sighed.

It was Daryl though, who answered while he kicked out angrily at a piece of mud on the ground, "Isn't it obvious? We go out on the road again, an' try ta survive th' winter."

.

_I hope this was okay. I'd love to hear some feedback from you guys, it really helps. Thanks so much to everyone who has put this on their alerts or favourites, I noticed that a few alerted this like in the past hour or two, so _**surprise guys! New chapter already! **_Haha, thanks for all your support :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	14. Chapter 14

_Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter! I really appreciate all of them._

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They were packed up and ready to go at dawn the next day.

Rick helped with everything, though standing back every few minutes to keep a headcount, and make sure things were running smoothly. He had to be controlled, and rational, and have everything together if they wanted to attempt to make it through this.

So he watched as T-Dog stood on top of one of the cars, handgun at the ready, and Daryl in the truck bed with his crossbow aimed at anything that moved in the bushes. Dean was waiting patiently in the truck cab, his eyes trained out the small window to make sure Daryl was still there.

All around them, the others bustled around quietly; moving supplies around into different vehicles, making sure the cabin was picked clean of food and anything else they could scrape together.

They had three vehicles. The blue pickup that Andrea and T-Dog had escaped with, that seated three people properly, the five person car Rick and his family had fled in, and the other five person car that Glenn and the Greene's had driven off in.

While they had enough supplies to barely survive on, Rick knew that winter was coming, and with it would bring even more challenges and that their fight for survival would get even tougher.

He, Daryl, T-Dog, and Glenn had had a long discussion about what would be necessary to acquire before the roughest of winter would be upon them. The two tents that they'd been able to drag away from the farm wouldn't be much use, unless they could fit the whole group into them. Which wasn't really an option.

Glenn was of the opinion that they should find somewhere to hunker down, fortify it heavily, and then just wait out winter. Daryl wanted to keep moving, stay alive by evading and scavenge along the way. T-Dog thought that they should look for help again, like heading to a military based place like Ft. Benning.

He listened to all of their suggestions, but Rick had no idea what the better option would be.

In the end, they compromised on leaving the cabin like they had planned, and then just staying on the roads until they either found a place that was safe enough, or came up with another idea. Rick felt this was the safest, because he didn't want to take chances and settle in somewhere that could be safe, and then have all their dreams torn down around them.

Like the farm.

They couldn't afford to think that anywhere was safe, not anymore. They couldn't afford to lose any other people due to comforts or negligence or innocence.

Rick sighed carefully, noting everyone's position, and felt the unbearable heavy weight of leadership slam down on his shoulders once again. He felt the responsibilities for the twelve group members' lives solidify, and had to close his eyes for a moment to ensure that he had everything together.

He missed the presence of Shane at his side.

There was an empty space beside him, where his best friend usually would have been directing and helping, and just _beside_ him. Even before the world had ended, Shane had been there beside him for everything. He had been the best man at Rick's wedding, had babysat Carl when he was barely more than a toddler, had gotten Rick out of countless dangerous situations.

And then, of course, he had gotten shot, and everything had changed, but somehow things had stayed the same. Shane could have left when Rick came to camp, could have left during any one of their arguments or tough times, but he had stayed, and he had helped the group survive.

But now, he was just gone.

Rick didn't know how to function without his best friend. The end of the world had changed a lot of things, but it hadn't changed the fact that Shane had always been _there_.

He was yanked out of his thoughts by Daryl jumping down from the truck bed, and letting out a low whistle to get Rick's attention. When he looked around, Rick saw that everyone was getting into the cars, the loading up finished, and almost ready to move on.

He would have to move on, Rick realised sadly, and there was a moment or when he wasn't sure if he could continue with his best friend.

But then Carl called out to him, and Glenn asked him quietly if he was okay as he passed, and then Rick knew that he could have to be able to. Because this was the way that things were, and he had to make sure the group lasted through the winter.

Rick pasted a smile onto his face, nodding at Glenn, and headed over to his family.

They would have to be ready, and they would have to be tough, but they could do this. They would do this.

.

Daryl clenched his fist tightly, feeling the keys inside dig into his skin, but then he looked up and whistled to T-Dog.

The man raised his eyebrows, wondering what Daryl wanted him for, and Daryl tossed the motorbike keys over, with only a small grimace, "Ya mind ridin' her fer today? Dean wants me in the truck with him, an' yer the only one I… trust with th' bike."

T-Dog burst into a huge grin, just as Daryl knew he would, and caught the keys one handed, "Yeah, man, that's no problem—I mean, yeah, I love that bike, you know I'll take care of—"

"Jus' don't scratch it," Daryl muttered, stalking away before the other man tried to hug him or something.

He headed over to where Dean was waiting in the truck, and was met with Andrea's knowing smile as she leaned against the blue pickup truck. Daryl didn't say a word, just daring Andrea to object or say something sappy, eyes narrowed and staring into hers.

Andrea eventually settled for just ruffling Dean's hair, the kid's head sticking out the open window, and said, "You want to drive?"

Daryl grunted roughly, and sidestepped her to open the creaky door. Dean clambered into his lap the second he sat in, and Daryl pushed him off gently, "Ya ready ta go, kid?" The boy nodded his earnest agreement, and settled for pushing himself up against Daryl's side carefully.

The rest of the group were dividing into cars around them, and Daryl took a second to assess everyone and who was with who.

The Greene family and Glenn were going in the car they'd arrived in, and Carol slipped in beside Beth and Maggie in the backseat, smiling at Glenn as he turned around to say something to her. The Grimes were also in their car, though Jimmy looked like he was asking Rick permission to ride with them.

Rick grinned at him, and seemed to be saying something enthusiastically, but Daryl could tell from the teenager's stance that he was uncomfortable and awkward. He chuckled quietly to himself, as Jimmy headed towards the car with Rick, all gangly limbs and uncertainty.

Daryl liked Jimmy.

The kid was awkward and traumatised, from being thrown into the deep end of the apocalypse at the farm, but he had potential. Though it was buried deep, Daryl could sense a fire inside him, that he'd need in the weeks to come. People didn't survive anymore if they didn't have some spark of anger or determination inside them.

Plus, Daryl had heard that Jimmy had taken out a walker by himself while he'd been off finding Dean, and he'd been impressed. The kid sounded like he'd listened to Daryl's quick knife lesson, and then put it into practice. The group needed as many fighters as they could get, and Daryl was betting his non-existent money that Jimmy would end up joining their ranks. When everything fell, people needed structure, they needed rules, and you couldn't get more structure from the uniform taking down of the undead.

In Daryl's opinion.

Dean was almost bouncing in his seat beside him, excited by the prospect of being on the move again, his hand clutched tightly to Daryl's shirt. He rolled his eyes playfully at the child, and told him to calm down, that they had a long drive ahead of them, but that did nothing to curb Dean's enthusiasm.

The child did quieten down slightly when Andrea sat into the truck cab beside him, keeping her distance of course, but he still carefully begged Daryl to put the radio on.

"Please, please, please, Daryl, I ain't heard th' radio in _ages_, an' we always listen to th' radio when we're in th' car, an you _always_ sing loudly, an' please can we jus' put it on fer a minute… please, please, please, Daryl, I wanna hear some songs an' I want ta sing along with you even though I don't know the words, please!"

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the road as they all started up their engines, and started to move back towards the main road, "You'll have to ask Andrea, kid. She's in charge of the radio for this trip."

At this, Dean snuck a glance over to Andrea, who was nonchalantly trying not to spook the child, and said softly, "Can we please put the radio on, Andrea, please?"

She pretended to be thinking about the decision for a few minutes, dragging it out while Dean shifted uncomfortably with nerves, before she grinned widely, "Well, there isn't any radio anymore, but we can put a CD in, Dean… I want to hear just how good of a singing voice Daryl has!"

They started off their 'road trip' with Dean singing out words to a random CD loudly, Daryl playing along for the sake of his nephew, and Andrea laughing harder than she had in weeks.

.

That evening, Dean's enthusiasm had disappeared completely, and he was clinging to Daryl's legs as they stood in the doorway of the abandoned house that they were staying in that night. "No, don't go, Daryl, please don't go."

"I havta, kid. I havta go get dinner, okay? You go in there, and Lori said she'll read ya a story, an' I'll be back before ya go ta sleep, okay? Dean? Dean, ya havta let go."

Dean reluctantly let go, tears brimming up his eyes, and nodded, "Promise you'll come back?"

Daryl reached out and put his hand on Dean's shoulder carefully, "I always do, kid. I always come back."

Then he had to duck out the door, and into the waiting car with Glenn and T-Dog, to go out on a quick run. They'd passed an empty looking Wal-Mart about a half hour before choosing a house to hunker down in, and were heading back to it in the hopes of finding something for dinner.

His crossbow was heavy on his legs as Daryl sat in the backseat, and he had to take a moment to remove himself from the situation, and from Dean's tearful eyes. The group needed food, and no one was eating that night if they couldn't find anything. He had to focus, and get his head together.

When they reached the Wal-Mart, it was a simple in, with only two walkers stumbling around outside.

Inside was a bit of a different story, with ten walkers converging on them, but it was nothing the three men couldn't handle. Within minutes they had split up, to walk through the mostly empty aisles, stomachs rumbling at the mere thought of food.

Daryl stalked through the empty shelves, smirking in triumph when he spotted three cans of vegetables and five bottles of soda on a shelf. He swept them into his bag, ignoring the dust, and continued quickly. By the time he had reached the end of his section, he had found an additional three sweaters, one pair of boots that looked like they might fit Carl, or maybe Dean when he was a bit bigger, a large kitchen knife, two blankets with _Dora the Explorer_ on them, seven cans of soup, and a few packets of hot chocolate.

It was a good haul.

Just as he was about to turn around and start looking for Glenn and T-Dog, he spotted something on a shelf that made him pause.

Daryl leaned down to get a better look at it, and contemplated the object, wondering if they needed it. He reached out a hand to get it, and held the smooth object in his hand for a moment, before slipping it into his pocket with a small smile.

He imagined of the look on Dean's face when he would presented him with the object, and thought of times long gone, when Merle had sat down for a few hours with him, when they were kids, and had taught him how to use one of them. Daryl remembered that afternoon, remembered the feeling of a smile on his face, and wanted that feeling for Dean more than anything else.

As he met up with the others at the storefront, their bags almost full with various pieces of junk that would hopefully be useful, Daryl could feel the object in his pocket, and it made him feel a bit lighter.

After all, every kid should have a yoyo.

.

_So, I hope this chapter was okay. I'll have the next one up in a few days, but would love to hear some feedback from you guys if you have time!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks to all the people who reviewed the last chapter—I really appreciate it, guys!_

.

The pile of walkers outside the door didn't even smell that bad.

The former occupants of the house had been dragged out ceremoniously, when the group had finished securing the area, and Daryl didn't even glance towards them as he made his way to the front door. It was disturbing to realise that he'd seen worse.

It was disturbing to think that there were worse things in the world than a family piled up outside their own home, while strangers invaded it.

But that was the way things were.

Daryl knocked on the door three times, the bag slung over one of his shoulders, his crossbow loaded and swinging slightly in his grasp. His stomach grumbled at the prospect of the food he had in his bag, and he could see Glenn jumping up and down quietly beside him.

When the door was finally answered, by Rick, he could see Dean in Lori's arms as she tried to stop him from running at the door. Dean was beaming, shouting, "Daryl! Daryl! Daryl!"

He swept past Rick, shoving the bag into his arms, and throwing the crossbow carefully into an empty armchair. Dean ran over to him, jumping into his arms, and he hugged him tightly back, wondering how he could have ever spent months without the child, when the outbreak had split them up.

"I got ya a present," He said quietly, loving the look on Dean's face as his eyes widened with excitement. The little boy was quivering with anticipation as Daryl put him down, kneeling in front of his nephew, and reached into his pocket.

The rest of the group looked over curiously, Rick pausing in his scrutiny of the supplies they had brought back.

Daryl pulled out the silver yoyo, and smiled as Dean's mouth dropped open in excitement, as he was handed the small object. The yoyo was turned over several times in Dean's hands, and the child was almost happier with the mere thought of a present, than the actual present.

"What is it? What is it? Daryl—you got me a present, what is it?"

At this, Carl, who had been leaning over in curiosity, let out a sound of appreciation, "Is that a yoyo?" Dean thrust the toy at the other boy, eyes shining with the thrill of the whole situation, for Carl to examine his present, "It is, yeah, look Dean, here you put this around your finger."

He smirked, sitting back on his heels, while Carl instructed Dean on how to operate the yoyo. Daryl let out a hoarse laugh as Dean let go of the yoyo, and it went thudding to the ground, the string still attached to his finger.

"Ya've got ta practice, kid."

Dean looked over at him with a huge smile on his face, despite his failed yoyo attempt, "I promise I will, Daryl, I promise, I promise, but I don't—it just fell—an' I, what…"

Taking pity on the child's crestfallen face, Glenn crouched down beside Dean, and grinned, "Here, let me try. I think I can help you with that." Glenn eased the string off Dean's finger, and got himself set up, even doing a fake set of 'warm up exercises,' that made Beth giggle, and Dean laugh. "Ready?"

All the other group members were transfixed by that point, except Hershel who was upstairs keeping watch out of the second floor window. Daryl raised his eyebrows at the other man, and smirked, "Let's see what ya've got, Chinaman."

Glenn suddenly threw the yo-yo forward, and it spun on the end of the string for a moment, making Dean cry out with amazement at the simple move. Then he twisted his arm past his head and over his shoulder, completing a full circle. He then tugged quickly at the string, to send the yo-yo back into the palm of his hand, with a flourish. "I'm Korean."

The group broke into applause, Dean even going as far to wrap his arms around Glenn's legs in a quick hug, while Glenn bowed.

While they were all gushing praise, Daryl stood up carefully, and made a scoffing noise, "That the best you got, Glenn?" His tone was mocking, as his blue eyes sparkled with a mirth that was rarely seen, "I was taught by the very best, Merle Dixon, who once nearly killed a man with his yo-yo skills."

Dean squealed with excitement, "That's my daddy!"

"Yeah it is, kid. That means yer gon' be good at it as well. Now, c'mon, hand it over an' let me show ya the proper way ta yo-yo."

The room exploded with laughter, and cheers for Daryl, the mood brightening to levels it hadn't been at for weeks. Glenn narrowed his eyes playfully, and tossed the toy over to Daryl, who caught it one handed, and rubbed it against his shirt to rid it of any imaginary dust.

Silence settled once again in the room, as Daryl licked his lips, and closed his eyes in deep concentration. Then he opened them to slits, and the game was on.

He thrust the yo-yo out skilfully, and directed it over his wrist when it came back at it. Before the string could become slack, Daryl repeated his first movement, with the yo-yo flying out in front of him, making a loop-de-loop, which made the whole group let out a collective gasp. Daryl continued to create the loop with the yo-yo, until finally the string became too tight, and he finished his performance off by snapping the yo-yo back to him, in one flick.

There was a moment of stunned silence, before the whole room erupted in applause, still quiet enough not to attract any walkers, but full of incredulous awe and happiness.

.

They spread out the supplies after that.

Rick watched carefully as they counted the amount of days the food gathered would last, and stockpiled the blankets and odd clothes the three men had managed to gather. There was enough food to last them three days, but they could stretch it to five if they needed to ration heavily.

The boots that Daryl had brought back didn't fit Carl, or Beth, but Dean was just about able to keep them on when he walked around, so the boots replaced his tatty sneakers. Dean clomped around the living room of the house in his new boots for an hour, liking the sound they made on the wooden floor, the laces tied tightly to keep them on his feet. Lori tried to trip him up every time he passed her, and a new game was invented to occupy the six year old.

Carol began to prepare dinner not long afterwards, around the time that Dean had fallen into Daryl's arms and stayed there, his head pressed into the hollow of Daryl's neck.

The subtle glances that Carol continued to send Dean and Daryl while she was preparing dinner didn't escape Rick's attention, and he wondered if Daryl knew that the woman was hyper aware to his movements, or if he was just ignoring her.

It sent a lance of pain through his heart, when Rick saw the concealed heartbroken expression on Carol's face, when Dean let out a peal of laughter and she looked up at him. His heart ached for Sophia, even though he knew that there was nothing more that he could have done, and it ached because there was nothing that he could do. Rick couldn't tell Dean not to laugh, or to play, or to be a normal kid just because it might hurt Carol. He couldn't tell Daryl not to interact with his nephew just because Carol was upset.

Rick wondered briefly if he should talk to Daryl about it, if he was aware of it happening at all. But then he realised that Daryl probably did know, that of course the hunter would know. It would explain why he was asking Lori to mind Dean, even though she had Carl to be looking out for, and why Rick had only noticed Carol's odd reactions to the pair now. Daryl had been shielding Dean from Carol, or the other way around perhaps. Either way, he had been trying to protect the woman's emotions, but, now that they were on the move constantly, Rick couldn't see that working out.

So he just looked back down at the map that he was studying with Hershel, and let his mind wander off the subject.

He had to figure out some sort of plan of where to go before the depts of winter hit, and that wasn't going to happen if he was too preoccupied with issues that he couldn't deal with at that moment.

"So, you think that we should go north?"

.

Jimmy sat in an armchair in the corner, glancing out the window every few seconds to make sure that there were no walkers.

Technically T-Dog was on watch upstairs, but it wasn't like anyone was talking to him, so Jimmy figured that the least he could do was keep a lookout. He could hear Beth laughing quietly at something in the background, some bad joke that Carl had told her, and the sound was both familiar and slightly painful.

He didn't know what to do about Beth. Jimmy supposed that he had loved her. She had been his everything, once upon a time, but then the dead had started walking, and things had gotten complicated. His head hung low as he chewed on his bottom lip, and tried to figure out how he felt.

Beth probably hated him now, he realised, and felt a hundred times worse because of it. Jimmy had torn her father away from Patricia, while the woman had been screaming and bleeding and _dying_, and Beth had seen it all.

If he were her, he would hate himself.

Maybe he already hated himself, Jimmy though numbly, not know what to think about anything anymore. Life had been so simple once, when he had just worked on his parent's farm, gone to church, and made out with Beth in his truck cab at night under the stars. It was so plainly obvious that those days were long gone. So far gone that he had already begun to forget was certain foods tasted like, like takeout pizza and Twinkies and his mother's apple pie.

A grunt snapped his out of his thoughts, and Jimmy bolted upright in his chair when he heard the noise, looking around wildly.

His eyes eventually landed on Daryl, who was holding a plate of food out to him, and only looking mildly amused. "Ya mind?" The man nodded towards the other empty chair beside Jimmy, and he shook his head, watching silently as Daryl settled himself in the chair.

"Where did you learn to do that, with the yo-yo?" Jimmy blurted out, before shovelling a forkful of canned vegetables into his mouth.

Daryl took a moment to respond, his scowl lessening slightly as he said, "M'brother. It was one of th' occasions when he wasn't wasted or high as a fuckin' kite. I was nine." The other man shrugged, and nodded towards Jimmy's pocketknife, "Ya should sharpen tha'. Ya know how?"

Jimmy shook his head, staring down at the small blade he had flicked out. "No, we—we didn't really do much killing back on my farm, y'know, before all of this."

"Yeah, well, yer gon' havta now, so there ain't no point in avoiding it," Daryl turned around to yell at Maggie, who was beside the supplies, "Maggie! Ya got a coffee cup or somethin' there?" Confused, she rummaged around until she found a mismatched one, and then tossed it over to him. "This is useful if ya ain't got a stone or another knife—mine are in m'bag over there—so pay attention."

Carefully, Daryl began to run the blade of the pocketknife around the edges of unglazed porcelain on the bottom of the mug for a few minutes, his almost finished crackers and vegetables sitting off to one side. Frowning, Jimmy watched, wondering how Daryl had ever picked up that skill.

But when the knife was tossed back to him, flicked closed, he opened it to find the blade sharper than he'd ever seen it, "Thanks. I… wasn't expecting that to work."

"Don't underestimate anyone in this world, kid. It ain't safe ta anymore."

His plate of food finished, Daryl stood up to go relieve T-Dog of watch. Jimmy watched him go, before finishing his own meal.

He hesitated for a few minutes, before standing up and making his way over to Carol with his plate. Awkwardly, Jimmy handed it to her when she held her hands out, and stammered, "Uh, thanks for the meal. It was… really nice."

Carol let out a small laugh, "About as nice as crackers and vegetables can be, I suppose. Thank you for thanking me though, Jimmy." He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks reddening for an unknown reason, "Are you okay, Jimmy? I'm always here if you need to talk."

"No, I'm fine—I mean, thank you for the offer, but… I'm really okay. Thank you though, for dinner."

She only smiled at him as he retreated back to the corner, and Jimmy found himself surprised that the woman had cared. Then Dean brushed past him as he ran around the room in his heavy boots again, and Glenn grinned at him when he caught his eye.

And Jimmy found himself thinking that maybe the group wasn't so bad after all.

.

_I hope this chapter was okay. The yo-yo moves that they did were real, Glenn's was called the _Around the World_, and Daryl did a _Loop-de-Loop_. The tiny bit of research on that was actually really fun! Also, sharpening a knife with the bottom of a coffee mug also seems to be a real thing. There's a random fact for you :)_

_I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can, but would love to hear some feedback from you before then if you have time._

_Review..?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	16. Chapter 16

It was calm the next morning. There was a sense of acceptance for their fate, which now consisted of running and hiding, and killing.

Two walkers had had to be taken care of the previous night, and within minutes of the whole group being awake in the morning, Rick declared the house unsafe with the sighting of three more walkers shambling down the road. So they listened, and then they started organising things, almost no words being exchanged.

This was just the way that things were now.

Rick watched as they packed up the cars again, not that they'd really unpacked them the previous day, and kept a careful eye out as Dean and Carl hurried out to take their seats. Something tugged at his heart when he saw that Carl didn't even bat an eye at the pile of bodies outside the front door. Dean only gave the deceased family a curious glance for a second, before playing with his yoyo again as he walked.

He didn't want his child to grow up in a world where he constantly had to be afraid, and worrying and fighting. But, then again, Rick wasn't sure if that display of casual indifference was any better.

Daryl shouldered past him then, hauling the thankfully heavy food bag, with a grunt of acknowledgement as Rick immediately stepped back out of his way. "Ya ready?"

"I think that we are, yes. Are you taking the bike, or is T?"

The look that fluttered across the other man's face clearly indicated that he wanted to be the one to ride the motorcycle, but he hesitated. A moment later, Daryl's face was impassive again, and he shook it gruffly, "Nah, I'm ridin' with Dean again. T-Dog can handle it."

Rick simply nodded, not wanting to irritate or anger the other man, something that could be done almost too easily with Daryl, and bent down to pick up the sleeping bag that Lori had slept on the previous night. "Okay then, I'll get everyone out to the cars then. Thanks, Daryl."

He received another grunt in response, and then the slamming of a door as Daryl shut the truck cab door roughly behind him. Rick kept looking, just for another few seconds, long enough to see Dean scramble into his Daryl's arms, and for his uncle to ruffle the child's hair.

It was so… different seeing this side of Daryl. The man had kept so much of himself hidden away, supressed, before they had found Dean. When he thought on it, Rick remembered being a shell of a man, broken and desperate, when he had woken up to find the world destroyed and his family gone. Daryl had been so strong and determined always, focused on surviving and finding Merle, and then finding Sophia. Rick could only admire that side of him, with awe that only someone who had gone through a similar situation could have.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

All too quickly Rick ended up turning the key in the ignition of the car, and pulling out behind T-Dog on the bike. Lori's hand was resting on his shoulder as she turned to check on Carl in the backseat. He could hear the sound of Carol sorting through some odd clothes that they hadn't had a chance to look at properly, while she hummed softly.

Rick tightened his grip on the steering wheel, seeing the rest of their tiny convoy in the rear view mirror, and tried not to look at the walkers at the side of the road, as the dust flew up into their dead eyes. He wasn't sure how to be responsible for all the people that followed him, and he wasn't sure how to best go about surviving.

But then he thought about how his family was still alive, despite everything, and how most of his new 'family' were strong and determined.

And then he was okay.

.

Jimmy sat quietly in the corner of the truck cab.

His knife was in his pocket, perfectly sharpened, as inspected by Daryl. His hands were bunched up into fists, as if he was… nervous. He wasn't sure why he was nervous, because Dean was babbling away and reaching across him to try and get enough room to yoyo, and Daryl was doing that gruff laugh, but Jimmy wasn't sure how he fit into the equation.

"Ya good, kid?"

Thinking that Daryl was speaking to his nephew, Jimmy didn't say anything for a few minutes, until Dean elbowed him sharply, and he winced, "Yes, yeah… I'm good. Thank you for letting me ride with you, I appreciate it."

Daryl simply slouched slightly in his seat, and nodded down towards the six year old, "Dean's th' one who asked me ta ask ya. I think he was getting' bored of me already, huh, kiddo?"

The child squealed with laughter, and shook his head with so much energy that Jimmy nearly thought the kid was going to get whiplash, "I'm _not_ boreda you, Daryl, you _know_ that! Jus' I wanted Jimmy ta come with us cause he looked lonely, an' I didn't want us ta get lonely, an' Andrea said tha' she was gonna go in tha' car with Glenn, an' I thought Jimmy could help me with my yoyo cause you're drivin', an' he might be good—but I ain't asked him yet, an'…" Dean trailed off slowly, and then spun to stare at Jimmy, "Can you yoyo?"

"I, uh, I dunno. I can try, I mean… I think I had one when I was a kid."

Dean beamed at him, and looked over at Daryl, "See, I knew tha' he could do it!"

The other man pretended to look offended, and growled out in an affection voice, "Ya mean ya don't need me anymore? Maybe I should jus' start teaching Carl how ta yoyo, if yer got yerself a new teacher now…"

The howl of protest that erupted out of Dean was unlike nothing Jimmy had ever heard from the child, and was filled with fear and confusion, "Nooooo, Daryl, no no no no! Yer _my_ teacher, an' its my yoyo, an' Carl _can't_ have you!"

Daryl waited another few moments, which Jimmy spent trying to keep himself from laughing, while Dean looked positively traumatized. He finally broke the silence by chuckling quietly, and pulling Dean close to him, "Jus' kiddin'."

Jimmy laughed, and was surprised when Dean scrambled over to him, and cautiously put his small arms around him. He hugged back, glancing at Daryl, and saw the man keep his eyes fixated on the road ahead, with a smile covering his face.

The next few hours passed in a blur of driving, and yoyo playing. Jimmy figured out that the only way to be able to play properly, so that the yoyo would have enough room to extend out fully and then contract, was if Dean sat on his lap, and then they tossed the yoyo out in the direction of Daryl.

Luckily, the string wasn't that long.

He felt almost normal as they laughed and nearly hit Daryl in the face with the yoyo several times. Dean on his lap reminded Jimmy of his younger cousins, who had lived seven hours away from their farm, and whom he had seen rarely.

A tear came to his eyes when he remembered that they probably weren't living anymore, that the four year old twins, Eve and Connor, were probably chewed up or stumbling around, or that Thomas, his seven year old cousin was most likely long gone. When that happened, he simply scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, and pretended not to notice as Daryl turned the radio up slightly louder so as not to alert Dean to his emotions.

Jimmy then simply cuddled the six year old a little tighter, and pointed out a tipped over water tower in a field next to them.

.

They stopped at a diner in the late afternoon.

It was becoming a pattern, that Daryl, Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog would sweep a place first, and then signal that it was safe. The small diner was relatively quiet, with just two teenage looking walkers still wearing the diner's tacky red and yellow uniform. They were both female, one with what one would have been beautiful golden hair, and the other with now rotting brunette curls.

Their bodies were piled up outside the door, as the others filed into the small diner. It had been relatively raided clean of food, except for a dozen bottles of water that were stored in a cabinet, secured shut with a rusty lock. Daryl picked the thing within seconds, and distributed the water out with a smirk on his face. Rick only shook his head, respectful of Daryl's lock picking skills, and tried to remember a time when he would have been suspicious.

After that, they spread out into different booths, the excitement of eating in a restaurant, even if an abandoned and run down one, high amongst the group members.

Glenn and Maggie sat alone, both sitting on the same bench, so they could cuddle and stare out the window together as they took watch. T-Dog, Carol, and Hershel were at another table, reading the menus with sad smiles on their faces. Daryl and Dean sat at the counter, so that Dean could swing his legs off the stool, and reach into the empty cash register with a giggle.

Rick watched carefully as Jimmy entered last, carrying one of the food bags, and immediately paused for a moment, unsure of where to sit. He only hesitated for a moment though, before making his way over to Rick, and handing him the bag carefully. The teenager's eyes were rooted to the ground the whole time, and he looked like a kid who didn't have a place to sit in the cafeteria at school.

Just before Rick could offer him a seat, Beth came over and said quietly, "Jimmy? Can we talk?"

They didn't go far, just a few tables away, so Rick was still able to hear their quiet voices as he sorted through their rations.

"Are… Are you okay, Beth?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just—I just wanted to ask you if we were still, you know, together."

"Oh."

"I don't know what to think, Jimmy. So much has changed, and you seem so different, and I was so scared. Please, just tell me what you're thinking."

"I guess we're not together anymore… unless you want to be?" There was silence, and Rick could feel it spear through Jimmy's hint of hopefulness. "Oh okay. I'm—I'm going to protect you, Beth. I probably wouldn't be a very good boyfriend now anyway, but I can make sure that you stay safe."

"Okay. Thank you. I… I should go get something to eat now."

"I guess I'll talk to you later then."

Rick winced inwardly for Jimmy as Beth walked slowly back from the booth she and Jimmy had been sitting in. She reached up to wipe something on her face once, and simply folded herself into a chair beside Carl and Lori. Her head hung low, and Rick couldn't see her face to gauge her emotions.

He turned carefully, to see Jimmy still sitting at the booth. His face looked shell shocked, even though it had sounded like he had seen the breakup coming. Jimmy noticed Rick's stare after a moment, and looked away shamefully, tugging at the cuffs of his sweatshirt.

Rick wondered how the world could fall apart around them, and everything change, but still teenage breakups remained slightly pathetic and heart-breaking for both involved.

After a while, Jimmy shuffled over to collect his plate consisting of one packet of crisps and a half a tin of corn. He settled for sitting at the counter, leaving one seat in between him and Daryl purposefully. Daryl met Rick's eyes after looked curiously at the teenager, and seemed to understand.

Across the room, Beth stared into her water bottle, and tried to ignore the single tear that slipped down her cheek.

.

_Okay, I had to slip in a break-up scene there. I apologise if it was terrible._

_I hope you liked this chapter though, and that everything was okay with it. I'll try and have the next one up in a few days, seeing as I'm feeling so organised from sorting the few hundred stray school related sheets around my room into folders and stuff. I hope that you'll let me know your thoughts on this chapter though :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComuter xx_


	17. Chapter 17

A week had passed since that afternoon in the diner.

The days had sobered them all quickly, and it had been hard to believe that they could get tougher, and so much stronger as a group, in such a short time. But it had happened, and there was no time to complain or miss the past.

It was all about surviving now.

Rick stood on top of an unturned doghouse, in the small suburban front garden of a house, and did a 360. His lips turned up in a snarl as he spotted a walker heading towards the house, and within seconds the thing was dead with a knife in its skull. Wiping the blade off on his filthy trousers, he stalked back to his post, watching as the light began to fade. It was strange to think of how natural all of this was becoming.

He hadn't wanted to grow up into a soldier.

A low whistle caught his attention, and Rick snapped to attention to see Daryl emerging out from the darkness, coming back from his patrol. He lowered his gun slowly, and managed to grin at the other man as he came closer.

Daryl, with his dirty face, ragged clothes, and scruffy hair, simply nodded at him, running a hand over his scraggly beard, "Place's as secure as it's gon' get. Move out at dawn though."

That seemed to be their new routine now. They'd stay in a place for one, maybe two, nights, and then be gone by the next morning. Rick had lost count of how many car games he'd played with Carl, or how many bodies they'd had to drag out of houses.

"Thanks. You run into any trouble?"

There was a dangerous glint in Daryl's eyes as he looked up once more, his hand tightening around the hunting knife he was grasping, "Nothin' I ain't able ta handle."

"Good." Once, Rick would have been wary of this man, who he'd seen have more violent outbursts than anyone, with his dark eyes and closed off face. But now, the man was almost like a distant brother to him, something to trust and confide to. Despite him having handcuffed Merle to a roof all those months ago.

"Oh it was good," Daryl smirked, and reached up to wipe some walker blood off his neck, "I'll do another sweep in a few hours."

Waving off Rick's protests that he could handle a perimeter sweep with a muddy hand, Daryl made his way silently to the house, slipping inside the door within seconds. His rations would be waiting in a small bowl by the food bag, cold and unappetizing.

The supplies were holding, barely. Each time they began to run low, from some miracle or another, they would find just a few more scraps to keep them going. It couldn't go on like this though; Rick knew that, even if he hadn't said it aloud yet. His wife was pregnant, and sooner or later they'd have to find somewhere to settle down. Dean was barely more than a scrap of a kid anyway, and even though Daryl gave the child half his rations, the boy was getting skinnier by the day.

And Carl… Rick didn't know what to think about his son. Carl had been arguing almost constantly with Rick to get permission to do a sweep of a house or a shop, anything to get a taste of the action.

Each time, Rick had refused, not wanting to risk it. But it couldn't be denied that they needed more manpower. Jimmy had even done a sweep, under the careful eye of Daryl's who'd been backing the teenager up. The normal set-up though, was that Jimmy would supervise Dean, who always wanted to run in after Daryl, and they'd wait with the others until it was declared safe.

But who really knew what safe meant these days?

Safe used to mean keeping on top of the mortgage, his bulletproof vest, his alarm system at the house, catching the robbers who'd hit three houses in the past week. But now it meant meagre scraps of food, having a loaded gun, having a friend to watch your back, missing the scrape of rotten teeth against skin, seeing dead _unmoving_ bodies.

Rick shook his head carefully, and straightened his back to work out the kinks, before taking a deep breath of the cold evening air.

.

The room was quiet when he entered, and Daryl glanced around quickly to locate Dean.

The child was sleeping already, curled up in a few shirts of Daryl's leaning against T-Dog as the man sat on the couch. Daryl smiled slightly at the man, who gave him a dazzlingly white grin back, and raised a hand to his lips, as if to tell Daryl to be quiet.

Daryl resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and made his way carefully over, switching places with T-Dog efficiently so the child didn't even wake. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the weight of Dean's head as it flopped against his arm, and the soft breaths that his nephew was taking.

As long as he had this, he was okay.

Someone passed him a bowl of… what looked like beans and dried animal crackers. Daryl ate the beans, and then slipped the crackers into his pocket to give Dean the next day, when the kid would start whining in the car, like he always did.

The sudden addition of weight to the sofa on his left side made Daryl tense up for a moment, but when his head whipped around, he was only confronted with Carol. She was smiled wearily at him, in that manner that she had, and the air of exhaustion that seemed to surround her was almost overpowering. Sometimes he wondered how she just kept surviving, how she found the strength to get up each morning and follow their broken group around.

Daryl shifted slightly, unsure of what to say, and chewed the bottom of his lip for a moment, "Hey."

"Hey, Daryl. I'm sorry that… I haven't meant to be avoiding you lately, just—" Carol began to speak, before cutting herself off sharply, and trying to look anywhere but at the sleeping child on the other side of him. Her cheeks reddened with an emotion that he couldn't quite place, and the silence of the room seemed to intensify.

"It's okay. I understand." At least he thought he did. Daryl had gotten a pretty good idea of the situation, after Dean had come warily up to him and asked why Carol hated him.

She shook her head softly, every move she made seeming to be soft, and struggled for the right words, "It's not alright. I never… I wanted to thank you—for looking for S-Sophia, and," Carol paused, to regain control over herself again, and to glance down at her hands. When she looked back at him, she continued carefully, "You sacrificed so much for my little girl, and that means a lot to me. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to… I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I couldn't find yer little girl."

Carol gave him a sad smile, and slowly stood up to go back to where her things were laid out in the far corner. Most of the rest of the group were beginning to head to 'bed', and Daryl assumed that she was going to do the same.

"Well I'm glad that you found your little boy."

She reached down a hand before she walked away, that brushed against Dean's scruffy hair, in a way that was more motherly than anything Daryl had seen in his life. He watched as she closed her eyes for the briefest moment, and wondered if Carol was pretending that it was Sophia's hair that she was stroking.

The second ended quicker than it had happened, and then Carol was walking away, her hands trembling at her sides.

Daryl looked at the wall opposite him, the one with the least bloodstains on it, and wasn't sure what to feel. The overwhelming guilt that had been gnawing at him grew stronger then, but it was coupled with the pure relief that coursed through him at the knowledge of having Dean _right there_, next to him, safe.

He settled back into the couch, still feeling the uncomfortable pinch of self-loathing that hadn't left him in months, and let his free hand rest against his sheathed hunting knife.

He was going to be up for third watch in a few hours, but there was still a chance of at least a hint of sleep. The sounds of the group settling in for the night were oddly comforting, in a way that seemed to have grown on Daryl.

Never in his life had he felt affection for so many people at a time, in fact he could probably count on one hand the people he'd _ever_ felt affection for.

The jury was still out as to whether it was a good thing, or a bad thing.

.

It started the next morning.

T-Dog let out a hacking cough as he pulled himself into a standing position, and looked as surprised as everyone else. His hand went up to his throat as he coughed again, face scrunching up in discomfort. When it was over, he waved off the concerns of the others, but frowned to himself as he helped Carol to load up one of the cars.

He swung himself easily onto the motorbike, giving Daryl a respectful nod as the man half glared at him. Having to clear his throat for the fourth time that morning, and uneasy feeling came over T-Dog, but he tried to brush it away.

He couldn't afford to be getting sick, not now, not when things were so unstable and fragile right now.

It was a dangerous thought to be having, but it was almost impossible to ignore the tickle in his throat that was building. T-Dog let out another cough, and shivered slightly, before noticing Rick's worried eyes on him. He gave the other man a grin, and mock saluted him, turning away before Rick could get a proper look at him.

It wasn't like it didn't make sense. They'd been moving so much, sleeping on damp floors with barely enough clothing or food, for almost two weeks now, with no end in sight. He should have seen it coming, that someone would get sick sooner or later, it being winter and everything.

But T-Dog just didn't think that it would be him who'd be the first.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he wasn't actually getting a cold. He'd always been known for his shining optimism, so T-Dog simply pasted a smile on his face, and stared the motorbike, wiping his nose on his sleeve quickly.

He wasn't getting sick. No way.

.

A day later, they were huddled in another abandoned house, and T-Dog was sick.

So were Carl, Hershel, Carol, and Glenn. Running a hand through his hair, Rick let out a sigh, and listened to the sounds of sniffles and coughs that echoed through the house. He clenched his fists, and leaned against the wall in the hallway, trying desperately to formulate a plan.

It was a disaster, to be honest.

All five sick members of the group were feverish, coughing, and some even throwing up. They'd tried to deny it for as long as possible, but the virus or sickness or cold or flu, or whatever it was, had hit them fast. Rick didn't know. He wasn't a doctor.

And neither was Hershel, if they were being blunt about things. Maybe animals didn't get the flu, or maybe they did, but whatever the answer to that was, Rick was almost certain that there wasn't a cure for the common cold. Definitely not in this world.

In an act of desperation of trying to keep the sickness contained, all the sick group members were huddled with the majority of their ragged blankets in one room as well as the duvet covers off the beds upstairs, while the rest of the group were seated around a large dining table in another room.

"I'll make a run."

The unexpected arrival of Daryl into the hall made Rick wince, and flinch against the wall for a split second. He nodded carefully, trying to gauge how many people he could afford to send out scavenging, "I think you might have to. We'll need any kind of cough or flu medication you can find, some blankets or thick clothes for definite, and—" In a split second, everything just seemed to get away from him, and Rick's head dropped into his heads, "Oh God…"

"Hey. They're gon' be _fine_. We're gon' be fine. Jus' keep an eye our fer Dean while I'm gone. Don't need him gettin' inta more trouble than we're already in."

.

_So I hope you guys liked this chapter. I'd love to hear some feedback on it, as it really helps me in writing the next chapter! This story will be picking up the pace from now on, and just a thank you to all you guys who've just this on alerts recently :) I really appreciate it._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	18. Chapter 18

_Hey everyone; thanks for all the reviews from the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one._

.

It was a quick in and out.

The house was tucked away off a side road, with a winding drive, and a doghouse under an apple tree. It was a last ditch attempt for them, all the shops in the area already picked clean, and it was their only hope.

Daryl led Jimmy in through the back of the house, both crouched down low with their weapons raised. He held a finger up to his lips carefully as he turned around to make sure the teenager was still behind him, only slightly surprised to see the blank look on Jimmy's face.

The boy had mastered the art of closing himself down, numb eyes and an impassive facial expression. He looked like a survivor, like a danger, like someone that the world couldn't _break_.

Daryl stared for a moment at him, remembering the long years of struggling and pain, unsure about what to think about the fact that Jimmy's expression looked so familiar. He'd seen it looking back at him in the mirror for years when he'd been a kid, seen it in the eyes of Merle before his brother let drugs become a form of escape.

So Daryl just took a moment to remember, a second to be proud of this teenager that he barely knew, and then it was over.

"Ya know what ta get. Anythin' ya can, an' then get out. Don't be stupid, don't take too many fuckin' risks. 'm trustin' ya, kid." He turned back around, and hefted his crossbow up even higher, squinting through the scope with narrowed eyes, "I'll take th' kitchen."

Jimmy made some kind of sound of agreement, and sniffed quietly before heading towards the stairs, knife raised in front of him. He had Daryl's hunting knife, with a thick blade, and instructions only to use the gun in his back pocket it if he needed to.

The kitchen was clear. So was the sitting room, and the downstairs bathroom.

But there was one walker, in what had once been a playroom. It was the shell of a little girl, maybe eight years old, if that. Daryl took her down with a bolt straight to the head, and then crouched down beside her tiny body.

She had been wearing purple fluffy boots, when everything had happened, though only one remained on her foot now, torn and blood-stained. There was dried gore in her soft brunette curls, and a chunk missing out of her left cheek. It was the most horrifying and pathetic thing that Daryl had seen in weeks, bar Sophia, the complete degeneration of a _child_ into a monster. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, as the streaks of blood on the pink carpet caught his attention.

Aware of the time constraints and Jimmy alone upstairs, Daryl could only take a few seconds to tug a princess blanket off a shelf, and drape it carefully over the small body. It felt so wrong, to stand in the doorway and be prepared to walk out of the room, while the tiny girl was lost forever, just a rotting body in a child's playroom.

But he had to, so he did.

.

Jimmy inched forward though the upstairs corridor, and kicked open the door of the first bedroom. It was clear, something he was so thankful for, and his fearful eyes spotted the pink embroidered duvet.

It must have belonged to a little girl, he realised, and tugged it quickly off the bed, before throwing it out into the hallway. He'd pick it up on his way back down. Jimmy scanned the room, looking for other useful things that he could shove into his pockets, and prayed to whatever kind of god was left that the kid had made it out of this world unscathed.

Seeing nothing else that would be deemed useful anymore, Jimmy backed out of the bedroom slowly, and began his walk down the silent hallway once again.

In the bathroom, he found a few tubes of toothpaste, which he pocketed, and some bars of soap. Jimmy grinned, and the elation gained from the small touch of normality even gave him the courage to pick up the packet of feminine hygiene products in the cabinet, and throw them into the backpack on his back with a shudder.

There were two walkers in the other bedroom, what looked like a married couple, and Jimmy killed them with tears in his eyes. He stabbed his knife savagely into their skulls, watched their bodies drop to the floor with that now familiar _thump_, and then wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

One day, that was supposed to have been his life. The small house, off in the countryside, with a wife and a little kid. With the floral patterned curtains, and the matching bedspreads, and the flowerpots outside the front door. Jimmy had _wanted_ that. A part of him had thought that maybe he could have that with… Beth. That was long gone, and now, he thought with a sad smile on his face, so was this life. The happy ending with the family and the house and sitting around a cheerful dinner table at the end of the table was _gone_.

Trying to keep it together, he stripped the bed of the duvet quickly; yanking open the closet and began pulling out what looked like winter jackets with trembling hands.

.

By the time they met up again at the front door, almost laden down with supplies, only five minutes had passed. Maybe less.

But somehow, it was long. It was far too long, and yet, it seemed almost too easy to just barge in and scavenge like that.

Daryl didn't say a word as he helped Jimmy shove the bundle of blankets into the backseat of the car, beside the full backpacks on the backseat. He had simply nodded his approval when Jimmy had come down the stairs, white faced and shaking, but okay. He had looked the kid over briefly for injuries, but he seemed to be okay.

So, for lack of anything else to do or say, they just got back into the car, and drove away.

Jimmy closed his eyes the second the car started moving, and buried his face in his hands for a few long minutes, before Daryl couldn't stand it any longer. He nudged the teenager, and grunted, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"It's all gone, isn't it?" Jimmy finally blurted out, and slammed a fist into the dashboard of the car, "Everything that ever was anything is _gone_, and it's tainted and bloody and broken! This—this isn't living. This is the dead living, while we waste away and die, and watch everything _burn_!"

Daryl slammed his foot into the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt in the middle of the empty road.

"Th' world was always broken. It was always fuckin' fallin' apart, jus' no one wanted ta see it like that. Jus' took a couple million dead bastards fer everything ta figure it out. This is how things are now, an' there ain't nothin' tha' we can do about it no more. This is it. So ya get all yer _emotions_ out right now, before we go back ta th' group. Those people—they won't be able ta take it if ya break down on them. Ya think Lori, with all her pregnancy hormones can handle this? Or Carol, or Dean? None of yer anger is gon' change anything, it'll jus' start them all off. So ya deal with it however ya need ta, an' then we'll get back ta them."

The teenager squeezed his eyes shut, and lashed out at the car door, banging his head back against the headrest. He spent a few moments with his hands fisted in his hair, silently mourning the life that he never got to live, before kicking out with his right foot.

Daryl just sat there, waiting, his hands on the wheel. He remembered this kind of irrational anger that just used to consume him, remembered the hatred that used to burn inside of him for this plague that had hit them all. He knew what it was like.

So when Jimmy had finally opened his eyes again, saying, "It's—I'm sorry, this won't happen again. I'm okay, and- we can go back now. Sorry," He had simply nodded, and started the car again.

"No need ta apologise, kid. Ya did good today, an' that's all that matters."

.

Rick was at the end of his tether.

Daryl and Jimmy had been gone for hours, Dean was sobbing, half the group was in the other room sounding like they were about to cough up their lungs, and the rest of the group were terrified. He wasn't sure what to do, apart from killing the walkers that came too close to the house, and attempt to reassure everyone.

It felt like they were falling apart though, and there didn't seem to be a solution for that.

When they heard the sound of a car pulling up outside, long after it had gotten dark, Rick could have broken down with relief at the sound of Daryl's voice as he pounded on the door, "Open up, Rick, 's jus' us."

He wrenched the door open, to be greeted with the sight of Daryl hauling a few backpacks inside, beside a mountain of bed covers. Jimmy's face popped out from somewhere inside the folds of material, and he just stared at Rick before shoving past him and manoeuvring the bundle of bedcovers into the house.

There were soft shouts of joy and thankfulness as the teenager began to distribute the blankets and duvets, but Rick could only stare at Daryl.

"What took you so long? Were you—did Jimmy slow you up—I mean, I told you that you should have brought—"

Daryl cut him off by shoving the bags into his arms, and reaching down to pick Dean up with one hand, "Ain't nothin' but the lack of food in the shops slowed us down, _Rick_. Jimmy's a good kid, an' I trust him ta have my back. Wouldn't have brought him if I didn't. So show th' kid some damn respect."

He pushed past Rick as well, heading for the tiny cupboard where he and Dean had curled up the previous night.

Rick was left standing alone, at the empty doorway, wondering why he was finding it so hard to pull it together. But he had to, so he did, and walking back into the dining room to see Beth with her finger in a jam jar, giggling like a normal teenager should, Maggie leaning over her shoulder to share in the small sweet taste of heaven.

When he looked around, he found Jimmy curled up in the corner, a soft blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He had a bottle of water in his hands, and was watching Beth with such sad eyes that Rick wasn't sure if he should interrupt the moment.

But then Beth let out a soft laugh again, at something that Lori had said, and Jimmy ripped his gaze away sharply. He hadn't moved from where he was staring intensely out the window when Rick made his way over, and didn't look up to acknowledge his presence. Rick crouched on the ground beside the boy, and didn't speak for a moment.

"Thank you, Jimmy. What you did today—by going out with Daryl—we all appreciate it. I know that you and I don't know each other very well, but you're a member of this group now… and I don't know what we would do without you. I just wanted to let you know that I'm thankful for what you did today, for the risks that you took in order to help the group, and—that I'm here if you ever need to talk."

He stood up to leave, but Jimmy reached out to grab his wrist suddenly.

"I just want to _belong_."

Rick placed a heavy hand on the teenager's shoulder, and gripped him tightly, "You do. You matter to us, and you belong. You belong, Jimmy, and we need you."

.

"Got some pain meds, throat lozenges, a half a bottle of cough syrup, those lemon things you dissolve in water or somethin'," Daryl went through the contents of the bag quickly, tossing them at Rick who was only just barely managing to catch them. "An' then th' food tha' we could bring back."

The other man nodded his thanks, arms laden down with various medications, "A good haul. I'll go see what Hershel makes of all of these."

Daryl didn't reply, instead just accepting the tin of peas that Maggie passed him. He dug in, finishing the unappetizing 'meal' within a few minutes, and wincing at the sensation of the cold, slimy veg going down his throat. Dean sat on his lap, playing with his yo-yo quietly, having already had his breakfast of cold corn.

The room was quiet, with most of the group in the 'sick room' and the atmosphere in the room not getting any warmer.

When the groans of the undead got too loud outside, Daryl gave Jimmy a nod, and the two of them grimly stepped outside to 'deal with' the four walkers that were stumbling around in the front garden. But even as they were shutting the front door behind them to go inside again, another two walkers were coming down the street, and three more headed around the corner.

With a growl, they disposed of those as well, before hurrying back to the house, and shutting the door firmly behind them. Jimmy looked up at Daryl with calculating eyes, and blood smeared on his shirt, "It's not safe here anymore, is it?"

His only response was to shake his head roughly, and run a hand through his hair when the sounds of the sick group members coughing got louder.

"No, it ain't. But it's not like we've got a lot of options."

Jimmy sank down to a sitting position, leaning against the front door, and gripped his knife tightly. His gaze found a crack in the ceiling, and he focused on that, barely noticing as Daryl went in search of Rick to discuss the situation. All his attention was on the moans outside.

.

Two days later, and the group's overall condition had improved. Their safety however, was dangerously compromised.

Daryl hadn't slept much since returning from the supply run, instead having to keep a constant watch, along with Rick and Jimmy. An hour didn't go pass without one of them needing to dart out and handle a walker or two, but as much as they wanted to leave the house, half the group was still sick, and it was painfully obvious that they wouldn't last a day on the road.

So Daryl crouched by the window, his crossbow in his hand, and waited for the next few stragglers to come along. Dead walkers littered the lawn of the house, more on the street and the pavements, but the stench of rotting bodies was something that they'd all gotten used to.

Then Rick came up behind him, sitting down with a sigh, and that's when Daryl knew.

It was time to move on again. "They doin' good?" He asked roughly, stretching out a kink in his neck.

"Hershel says everyone's recovering well, himself included. Their fevers are down, symptoms are decreasing, they're not coughing as much—he thinks that everyone should be good within the next day or so… Carl wanted me to thank Dean for lending him the yo-yo."

Daryl smiled at the memory of Dean handing his yo-yo over to Rick to give to Carl, his small face having been as serious as it ever got.

"Yeah well, I guess we'd better start getting' ready ta move out. Tomorrow mornin'?"

Rick nodded, and looked ouside with a frown, "Yeah. You think that we can manage until morning?" Even then, a walker loomed up from behind some cars, and began to head for the carcass of a dog that had been lying on the street for days.

He nodded, and rubbed a hand over his face, "We always do."

.

_So, there's another chapter down. Thanks for all the alerts and favourites, guys, I'd love to hear what you all thought of this before I post the next chapter. I hope all you guys who get to watch the new episode tonight enjoy it!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	19. Chapter 19

It was tough, getting everyone out in one piece.

Daryl had sped off on his motorbike just before dawn, when there'd been a lull in the walker activity, three empty gas tanks swinging off the handles. When he'd returned two hours later, they were filled with petrol, and there was a grim smile on his face.

"Let's fill 'em up."

After that, it had been tricky—with both Daryl and Rick having to cover Jimmy as he darted between their vehicles and filled up the petrol tanks carefully. The others were waiting inside the house, clutching their belongings to their chest, and waiting for the signal to run.

The number of walkers stumbling around the neighbourhood had increased drastically within the past few hours, and Daryl's chest was heaving as he panted, constantly killing and ducking and _surviving_. He wondered briefly if there had been a recent massacre nearby, or if they'd just pushed their luck by staying in one place for too long. Whatever the reason though, they simply couldn't afford the risk of staying for another hour or two, as their original plan had been.

They had to get out.

Daryl let out a whistle to signal the group's attention, and plunged his knife into a faceless skull efficiently, "We've gotta move, Grimes!" Rick, with his back pressed up against a tree, yelled out his agreement, and kicked up a booted foot to smash in another face. "Get ta the cars!"

As Daryl began to run towards the house, for the others, Rick and Jimmy fought their way over to the vehicles, and climbed inside them, starting the engines quickly with the keys that they always left under the driver's seat. He had left the bike parked right up beside the door, so he ran for it, stopping to wrench open the front door and start ushering people out.

They ran for the cars, scrambling inside with their arms full, while Dean ran for Daryl. The kid jumped into his arms, a tiny backpack around his shoulders, and Daryl shouldered his crossbow.

He threw a leg over the bike, Dean still clinging onto him, and started the ignition. Dean let out a scream as a walker reached forward with grabbing hands, but a knife suddenly buried itself into the monster's face, and it dropped to reveal a grinning T-Dog.

"I got this, man!" He beamed, and then wretched the knife out as Daryl nodded his thanks. "I'll get the truck!"

Only hesitating for a moment more, to make sure that everyone was out of the house and more or less safely in the cars, Daryl growled down to Dean, "You hand on, y'hear? You hold on tight, an' don't you let go, Dean, don't let go!"

The bike sped away from the house with a roar, and Dean screamed again, but his arms were wrapped tightly around Daryl, like he was never going to let go.

Daryl never wanted him to let go, if that was what could keep him safe.

They left the house behind, the building that had kept them safe for so long, but that had also nearly trapped them, disappearing in a crowd of walkers. It felt almost too familiar to them all, to be leaving another 'safe haven' behind in a mess of bodies, but at least they hadn't lost anyone.

No one was lost – not this time.

.

The next week passed in a blur of adrenaline and fighting and travelling.

Life on the road was challenging, for everyone, but they were getting good at it. Rations were controlled and kept going, and water was stored in the compartments of the cars, filled up at each stream or other fresh water source. They kept their medical supplies, which were pitiful but critical, separate and made sure that the others were well recovered.

Carl took the longest to get his strength back, which had worried Rick to no end, but Dean proved to be a vital distraction. The little boy would travel in the car with Carl most days, for a few hours at a time, and keep his spirits up. The two would play cards, yo-yo games, i-spy, and whatever else Dean wanted to. By the time that the seventh day had passed since escaping the house, Rick was relieved to hear Carl laughing loudly and almost bouncing around with energy in the backseat of the car.

Everyone slid into their roles, into the positions that suited them most. It was little things that kept them all together, like Carol preparing dinner, Glenn and Maggie always taking first watch together, Beth distributing the water, Andrea keeping count of the days… things like that.

Daryl got the opportunity to hunt on the seventh day, and he disappeared into the woods with the promise that he would be back in three hours, tops. Dean's lip wobbled with unshed tears, but he just turned quietly towards Jimmy, and told the teenager that he would like a hug. It was given quickly, and when Dean finally pulled away, his small face was calm. "I think I'll just wait here for Daryl," He announced, and clamoured into the truck bed, so he could stare into the woods.

They left him alone for a half hour or so, Dean scowling furiously whenever any of them made their way over to him.

Rick stayed close though, just kept out of the child's way, and kept watch. He wasn't surprised to see Lori making her way over to Dean after a while though, looking at her kind, smiling face, and wondering how she was keeping it together so well.

His wife sat quietly at the end of the truck bed, one hand pressed against her slightly swollen belly, and waited for Dean to acknowledge her. He did, after a few more minutes, and scooted down a few centimetres to be a bit closer to her.

"Is tha' a baby in yer tummy?" He asked finally, his gaze fixed on the woods in front of them.

Lori let out a chuckle, and nodded, looking down at her small bump, "It is, Dean, did Daryl tell you that?" The child nodded, and risked a quick, curious glance at Lori.

"Yeah, but he didn't tell me how it got in there. Jimmy wouldn't tell me neither."

Keeping watch a few metres away, Rick had to stifle a laugh at the thought of the little boy bringing up that topic with Daryl. And Jimmy… poor kid. He imagined that it had been a blissfully short conversation for both. Dean was staring carefully at Lori, his tiny blue eyes narrowed.

"I wouldn't imagine that they would. It's—it's something for when you're older. Trust me, you'd be bored if I told you."

"So it's like a secret?"

Just as she was about to reply, Lori let out a gentle gasp, and her other hand settled over her belly. "Oh. The baby just kicked." Dean frowned, and moved back a few inches, clearly unsure of what to do with the information, "Oh, no, Dean, it's not a bad thing. It just means that the baby wants us to know that they're here, that's all. Here, would you like to feel the baby kick?"

Dean frowned in confusion, and hesitated. Lori simply held out her hand, waiting until the boy had gathered up the courage to crawl over to her.

She placed his hand gently on her stomach, and smiled as he stared up worriedly at her, "When's it gon' happen? I don't—I can't feel anythin'. Maybe the baby doesn't like me—or maybe the baby wants me to go awa—I felt it! I felt it!"

Lori laughed, and put her arm around the child slowly, "It's okay, Dean, he or she just wants to say hello. When the baby comes, you're going to be like another older brother for him or her, did you know that? You'll be able to show the baby how to use that yo-yo, and how to play i-spy… if you want?"

The look of joy and excitement on Dean's face was like nothing Rick had seen in months, as he turned to look at Lori with amazement.

"_Really_?"

"Oh yeah, Dean, I'm going to really need your help with the baby. You and Carl are going to have to be big brothers together. Would you like that?"

Dean smiled and chattered away, gesturing wildly with his hands, and looking altogether like someone had just handed him the best present in the world. Rick watched, as his wife sat patiently and listened to the child, nodding in all the right places, and reassured Dean that he was going to be an excellent 'kind-of-big-brother,' in Dean's words.

After a half hour, Dean calmed down, and seemed content to just lean into Lori's touch, and even allowed her to stroke his hair gently.

"I miss my mommy," He said quietly, his face turned into Lori's arm, so that his words were muffled.

Rick could see his wife stiffen slightly with surprise, and then soften with sadness. She tightened her hold on him carefully, and bent down to kiss the top of his head, "I know you do, sweetie. I'm sure that she misses you very much as well."

"I miss my daddy as well. An' I used ta miss Daryl, but then he found me. But… I still feel sad."

"Wherever your daddy is, I'm sure that he's looking very hard for you, just like Daryl was. And in the meantime, you have Daryl, and the rest of the group. I'm sorry that you feel so sad, but it'll be okay. I'm sure that Daryl can make it okay, when he comes back."

Dean snuggled into Lori's side, waited a few more minutes before speaking again. "You kinda make it okay too."

.

Daryl returned that afternoon, dragging a deer behind him, and panting with the effort. He was smiling though, about as much as he could smile, and the rest of the group let out gasps and whoops of joy when they spotted him trudging out of the woods.

He watched as Dean leaped down from the truck bed, where he had been sitting with Lori, and wondered if those were tears that he could see on the child's cheeks.

Before he could get a chance to check, Rick was praising him and Glenn was taking the string of squirrels and Carol was up in his face. Just as he was about to push past them all, Daryl felt small hands grabbing at his trouser leg, and looked down to see Dean smiling up at him.

Dean was grinning and laughing, and the rest of the camp looked as though he'd just dragged Santa into their midst, or something similar. But he simply nodded as they all swarmed around him, and then politely managed to distance himself from most of them.

He ended up sitting by the fire, skinning the squirrels, while Rick and Hershel discussed loudly how best to deal with the deer. Daryl listened to them waffle on, smirking at their lack of knowledge, and deciding to wait a bit longer before he finally cut in and told them how to handle the deer. It was amusing, how little they knew about hunting and cooking meat.

No one noticed Beth making her way quietly out of camp, except Jimmy.

No one saw him make his way silently after her, to make sure that she was okay.

No one looked in the direction that they had left in, not until it was almost too late.

But then a scream erupted from the woods, and then everyone noticed. They looked around frantically, seeing who was missing within seconds, and then the men set off at a run for the treeline. The screams continued, sounding like… no one wanted to think of what it could be.

Beth just kept screaming.

.

_Quick update! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter._

_So, I'm thinking that this story should start coming to an end soon. The number of reviews are winding down, and maybe I should as well. Anyway, it's just a thought, there'll be a few more chapters for definate, don't worry._

_Let me know what you thought of this chapter – I'm deciding how cruel I should be with the contents of the next one._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading, _

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	20. Chapter 20

Daryl crashed through the undergrowth, getting closer and closer to the screams. _Not Jimmy_, he chanted to himself_, not Jimmy_. His crossbow was back at camp, Daryl having only had time to grab his knife before taking off, and he felt almost lost without it.

Behind him, Rick was screaming out instructions, but Daryl wasn't listening. He didn't care.

He just had to get Jimmy out of there.

Before he'd taken off, Daryl had all but shoved Dean into Carol's arms, and barked out an order for Dean not to move. His nephew had been frozen with terror, hands grabbing out for Daryl's shirt, but he'd just sprinted off, fear clutching at his own heart.

He was getting nearer now, to the blood curdling screaming, and Daryl instinctively held his breath, not knowing what kind of sight he was going to be faced with. It could… It could be horrific and gruesome and the last thing that he ever wanted to see.

Brushing one last tree branch out of his way with a growl, Daryl crashed into the clearing and roared with fury and loss.

His eyes took in their scene, his heart felt the pain, and his muscles reacted.

.

Jimmy had only been going to make sure that Beth was okay.

She had slipped out of camp, without a word to anyone, and made her way through the woods quietly. He had watched, with a puzzled expression, and risen to go after her. No one noticed him, as Dean and Daryl were occupied sorting through supplies, and the rest of the group still didn't pay him much notice.

So he had traipsed silently after her, gripping the small pocketknife that Daryl had given him weeks ago tightly, and wondering where she could be going.

When she had finally reached a tiny clearing, turning her back and squatting down, Jimmy suddenly realised why Beth had moved away from camp so quietly. He blushed furiously, and hid behind a tree, turning away from her and shutting his eyes, not wanting to be accused of spying on her.

Really, all he had wanted was to make sure that she was okay.

Just as Jimmy had been about to call out, to let Beth know that he was there in the least awkward way that he could think of, she let out a frightened cry. His heart almost stopped, as he heard her high pitched cry, and he whipped his head around.

She was scrambling back on the ground, fully clothed once again, with three walkers advancing on her so fast that they were nearly falling over her flailing legs. Tears were streaming down her face, and she just kept screaming as the creatures snarled.

"_Beth_!"

Before he even knew what was really happening, Jimmy was running towards his former girlfriend, who choked out his name with a sob upon seeing him. Jimmy didn't slow as he reached her, simply hurdling into the three walkers and knocked them straight off her.

He got caught in the rush of limbs, adrenaline pumping through him, and felt his head connect with another one, felt the snapping of teeth as they crashed onto the dirt.

He ended up on the ground, in a tangle of walkers and dirt, the stench of death—perhaps his own death—overwhelming and unmistakable. Jimmy wasn't scared though. He should be, that much was obvious with three walkers on top of him, but there was a strange sense of calmness that had come upon him.

Jimmy twisted and struggled to both hold the walkers away from himself, and get away, Beth's screams an odd soundtrack to the slow motion ending to his life that seemed to be taking place.

He was going to die.

The realisation hit him suddenly, as he arched his back against the dusty ground, and attempted to kick one of the walkers away from his legs. The undead shells of past humanity were pressing down on him, drooling and moaning in his face, and all he could do was squirm underneath them like a bug.

"R-run! B-eth… _run_!" Jimmy could barely get any words out, his chest tight from the weight of the walkers. He tried to look over at her, tried to tell her somehow that it would be okay, that he didn't mind dying—not if it was for her.

But his gaze was met with the glazed over eyes of a walker, that reached out and grabbed his hair with its rotting fingers. Jimmy thrust out a hand to push away the face that started to snap at him, almost in a frenzy, and wondered how long he could hold the thing back before his arm broke under the pressure.

On his other side, he had his forearm braced above his face, digging strongly into the chest of the second walker, trying to hold it off him for as long as possible. The third walker was somewhere around his hips, where Jimmy was kicking around wildly with his legs to fend it off. Sometimes he could feel his feet slamming into soft, squishy flesh and then he would know that he'd starved off a bite for a few seconds longer, but it was a blind, desperate attempt at clinging to life.

Something nagged at him to just give up. To just stop struggling, and let nature take its course. His muscles were burning and Jimmy wasn't even sure if he was breathing anymore, the sheer hopelessness of it all almost crushing him.

The only thing that kept him holding on was the screaming.

Beth was howling at him, shrieking desperately and sounding like he was the one ripping her heart out. She just wouldn't stop, couldn't stop probably, and she kept him fighting. Jimmy could feel his body weakening, and the snapping jaws got closer, bits of flesh visible in between teeth gaps, but he kept struggling.

For Beth.

.

When Daryl burst into the clearing, he thought Jimmy was dead.

How could the kid not be, with two walkers swarming all over him, and the other trying to gnaw on his boot, held off by a weakly kicking leg? But then Daryl's eyes caught the movement of the two walkers snarling over Jimmy's throat, the way they were just barely being restrained by the teenager, and the struggle that was still going on.

He shoved past Beth, who was pressed up against a tree screaming her lungs out.

His first knife thrust split straight through skull, and spilt gore all over the two of them. Daryl didn't even pause, just lunged straight at the second walker, and wrestled it off Jimmy, stabbing into the gruesome face with as much force as he could muster.

The screaming was still going on, and he whirled around to yell at Beth, as he threw himself at the next walker, "_Shut it_!" She let out a whimper and collapsed against the tree she had been leaning on, while the last walker dropped to the ground, with a thud.

Daryl, breathing heavily, turned in a quick circle, seeing only the other men from camp entering the clearing, and then threw himself down beside Jimmy.

"Kid, kid, yer okay—yer okay… where are—did they get ya?" Jimmy was unresponsive, lying outstretched on the ground with a glazed over expression. Shock. "Jimmy, ya need ta talk ta me—tell me what's wrong! _Jimmy_!"

There was blood and gore all over the boy, but Daryl quickly started running his hands down Jimmy's arms and legs, tearing the buttons on his shirt to check for bites on his neck. He didn't even look up as Glenn thudded to his knees beside them, and started to do the same.

After a few moments, Daryl found it.

And then he cursed himself, for thinking that they could be so lucky to get out of something like this unscathed.

.

Rick looked on with horror, from where he was crouched beside Beth, as Daryl let out a curse, and Glenn paled.

The teenager was sprawling out in between them, long limbs beginning to move again as he came back to himself. Daryl seemed to be panicking as he fumbled in his pockets for something, while Glenn looked like he was about to throw up.

Jimmy was only just stirring on the ground, when Daryl snatched up a pocketknife, flicking out the blade like it was something he'd done a million times, and pinned his hand to the ground.

He started to struggled, not knowing what was going on, and Rick simply held Beth tighter as she sobbed and watched in silence. Glenn looked like he was saying something, arguing perhaps or trying to delay Daryl, but the other man didn't seem to be listening.

Daryl raised the pocketknife up slightly, and then brought it down on Jimmy's fingers, in a swift and controlled movement.

Keeping watch only a few feet away, T-Dog winced and averted his gaze as Daryl quickly started to hack off the last two digits on the teenager's left hand. Jimmy yelled and tried to thrash, but all it took was Glenn to push his chest back down, and his strength seemed to be spent.

Tears just rolled down his cheeks, as Jimmy twisted his head around, Daryl trying to be as quick as possible. The man had a grim look on his face, as Jimmy's blood covered his hands, but he seemed determined to be thorough.

When it was finally done, and the two fingers, damned by the teeth marks that were embedded in the fingertips, stayed on the ground when Daryl lifted the hand gently. Jimmy was sobbing and shaking, and he seemed to collapse into Daryl's embrace when the man hauled him up and pulled him into a tight hug.

The red rag that they'd all come to know, was pulled out of Daryl's back pocket, and Glenn wrapped it tightly around the bleeding wound, trying not to cringe.

Then everything seemed to go quiet, and Rick knew that it was over. He tugged Beth to her feet, holding her close as she swayed, and headed back towards the camp. The girl clung to him, gasping and trembling in between sobs, but there was nothing that he could say to comfort her.

Jimmy's eyes rolled in his head as one of his arms was slung around Daryl's shoulders, and Glenn supported his other elbow, but he didn't pass out. T-Dog dodged around them all, aiming at noises the bushes made when the wind blew, and small animals that scurried past them.

Rick glanced behind, only once, to see Jimmy's wide eyes staring into nothing.

Then he looked away, and just continued on. They all just held it together, and kept moving.

.

"What th' hell were ya _thinkin'_! He could have been _killed_, all jus' cause ya were too embarrassed ta take a piss!"

Daryl advanced on Beth, making a wild gesture at the car that Jimmy was asleep in. She cowered back, and cried all the more, unable to speak without the feeling of terror gripping her, twisting into Maggie's shirt as her older sister held her.

Beth closed her eyes tightly, as her father began yelling at Daryl, and things just escalated until almost everyone was involved.

There were loud noises and the sound of what could have been a chair being overturned, but most of all, Beth could hear the desperation and worry in Daryl's voice. She wasn't sure if anyone else could hear it, if anyone could sense just how close he was coming to breaking down.

So she bit her lip, harder than she ever had before, and didn't even think about the blood that filled her mouth. She just tried to get it together, tried to pull herself out of the pit of fear and shock that she had been trapped in for almost an hour.

And then Beth stood, despite Maggie's hand closing around her wrist, and took a few shaky steps towards Daryl.

No one was prepared, least of all Beth, for the way that her arms started moving of their own accord, and pulled Daryl into a hug. "I'm sorry," She whispered and trembled against him, "I'm sorry we almost lost him, I'm sorry—I'm _sorry_."

His arms closed around her, smelling like dirt and the woods, and Daryl bent his head down carefully, "I know."

.

A week later, Jimmy was mostly recovered.

He was starting to help out with jobs more and more often, and during the evenings, Daryl showed him how to handle a knife with his left hand, despite the two missing digits. They had watched him carefully, for the few days after the incident, constantly checking for fevers or any signs of sickness, but he seemed to be fine.

A day after it had happened, Jimmy had looked Daryl straight in the eyes, and thanked him from the bottom of his heart, "You saved me," He'd said with only a slight tremble, "You came for me, and you saved me from becoming a monster." Daryl had simply shrugged it off, while Dean had pulled them both into a hug.

The rest of the group tried to get on with everyday living, tried to make things as normal as possible. They kept living, kept surviving, and kept moving.

A month later, Rick didn't think that they could be stronger.

Together, the group was the perfect unit. Something had happened during that month, maybe the Jimmy and Beth incident, or maybe the T-Dog church mishap or the Glenn and Carol lake fiasco, but whatever it was, it had changed them. What had once been a risky game, a few snatched chances, had turned into a finely tuned song, which they could all play. It was the song of endurance and struggle and willpower, one that wouldn't let them lie down and die, no matter how broken they were.

But somehow, they all kept the traits that kept them human.

Amidst the blood and killing, Carol still found time to pray every day, Glenn and Maggie still had a mostly functional relationship, Carl still went through the awkward stage when his voice broke, Jimmy still whittled away at pieces of wood with a pocketknife. Dean still treasured the toy cars Andrea had found for him, Daryl still loved watching Dean play around on the ground like a real kid, Lori still experienced the fluctuation of hormones and food cravings that went along with her pregnancy. Hershel still embarrassed Beth with old baby stories, Beth still had to hide a smile when she saw a nice outfit (be it in a shop window, or on a walker), T-Dog still managed to grin in a way that no one else could, Andrea still argued like a true lawyer.

Rick still loved his family, both his original family and the new one he had acquired at the end of the world.

And they just kept on going.

.

_So, I hope this was okay. (Guys I kept Jimmy alive for you, the reviews saved him). Thank you so much for all the feedback and support, it's so great to hear how much you're enjoying this, and I really appreciate the time you all took to let me know that you were still reading! _

_I've decided to skip ahead to the season three storyline, and continue on in my own weird way, from there. In the future, we may see a Merle and Dean reunion, so let me know your thoughts on how that should go down, or anything like that, if you want._

_The next chapter will be up as soon as I can get it done… but now it's time for me to finally go watch the new Walking Dead episode that only just came out in Ireland yesterday :)_

_Review..?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	21. Chapter 21

They lost Andrea during that winter.

It happened on one of the seldom times when they got overrun, too quickly and without a plan secured. One minute, the cabin had been clear, and the next… Everyone had been separated. There had been screaming and panic, and _fear_.

Daryl had been jostled away from Dean for a few horrifying moments, and then his attention wasn't on anyone else. The whole camp had been running, sprinting for their lives towards the cars, while Daryl tried to head back and grab his nephew. He remembered that Lori had been beside him, screaming and trying to hold onto Carl, who was clutching T-Dog's hand tightly.

He had roared and swung out with his fists, at anyone and everyone who tried to drag him along with them.

Dean had been standing in a clear patch of trees, staring with terrified eyes at the space between two trees. Walkers had moved towards them, as Daryl had scooped his nephew up with one hand, and fought against the army of the dead to get them back out.

It was close, but Daryl had managed to get them back to the group of cars, just as they were driving away, and almost throw Dean in the hastily rolled down window at Jimmy. He had then run to the truck, jumping into the truck bed, and holding on tightly to the sides as Glenn pressed his foot down on the gas. T-Dog had already revved up the bike, and had nodded once at Daryl before driving away.

When they stopped, hours later for fear of being followed by the herd, they had done a head count, and Andrea had been missing. The tears had come then.

It was an odd thing, loss. It seemed to completely take over their lives for a few brief moments, until something more pressing butted in, like it always did – survival. No one had voiced the intention of going back, though they all had cast hopeful looks back at the vehicles, before turning around sadly to face the rest of the group.

Dean didn't talk for three days after the incident.

Daryl had tried to coax him into telling him what had happened, for those few minutes in the woods when he had been by himself, but the kid had refused. No one could get through to him. When T-Dog had attempted to talk to Dean, on the third day when Daryl was getting desperate, the child had taken one look at him, and _screamed_.

After that, Daryl had simply retreated to the truck cab with Dean, and they hadn't spoken to the rest of the group for another two days.

He still remembered that look of pure terror on the face of Dean, when he'd found him in the woods. It was a mixture of fear, and… something that Daryl had never seen on a child's face before.

Dean had come out of it, eventually. The child never spoke of what had happened though, and Daryl didn't push it. As long as he got his kid bad, his Dean, he was willing to just leave it alone. The situation between Dean and T-Dog had resolved itself as well, though it took a whole week for Dean to be able to look the man in the eyes. No one knew what that was about, but again, they were willing to just accept it.

But Andrea was still lost.

And they cried many tears over her, about her absence and the not knowing. Sometimes Daryl wondered if that was what Dean had seen in the woods, if he had seen someone he had come to trust and love torn to pieces in a bloody storm full of screams.

He never asked though, just held his arms out to hold the child for as long as was needed.

.

Rick entered the house first, Daryl following after T-Dog silently.

The process of securing a house was second nature to all of them now, the methodical take down of walkers not even requiring words anymore. Maggie and Glenn usually took the back entrance, while Jimmy stayed with Dean and the rest of the group.

They came quickly through the door just as Daryl was beginning to pluck the owl, and Dean just smiled wearily and tried to catch some of the feathers as they fluttered to the ground. The child's hands were dirty, constantly caked in a layer of mud and grime no matter how many times Daryl scrubbed at them with a rag.

Dean sat cross legged on the ground, leaning against Daryl's legs, and smoothed the feathers across his cheek. The kid liked those kinds of soft and perfect textures, Daryl had realised in the weeks past, but nothing perfect seemed to be lasting in this world.

He watched Dean though, feeling the ever present gnaw of hunger claw at his stomach, and plucked the owl carefully.

Rick was by the window, and the room was silent, the weight of survival and hunger and hopelessness crushing. Carl was doing something in the corner, opening some kind of can, but Daryl didn't let himself look. He was focused on his task, and already trying to estimate how many group members the small owl had the ability to feed. He registered Rick throwing the can off into the corner, glancing up for a split second and hiding a flinch, but then he forced his attention back to the bird.

It was the only thing that he had control over. That, and feeling the warmth of Dean's body pressed against his shins.

Jimmy sat on his other side, hunched over stoically, his face guarded. The teenager was different now, they all were. He had his hands clasped together, and was staring down at the jagged scars that marked the absence of his two fingers, rubbing them inconspicuously like he always did when they ached.

Dean giggled quietly, breaking the silence of the room, when Jimmy tugged him closer, and began to twist the feathers into his scruffy hair. Even Daryl let out a small smile at that, watching as Dean shook his head around like a dog to try and dislodge the feathers.

But the moment was over the second that T-Dog let out a _pssst_, from the window, and then they were moving again.

He slung Dean easily onto his back, the child clasping his hands around his neck, and then Daryl was jogging out the door, Jimmy covering his back. The rest of the group spilled out from the house, far too used to the routine of running, and they split up into the different cars.

It was a well-practiced manoeuvre, one that wasn't even fazed by the dozens of walkers that had suddenly converged around them. Daryl grunted at Jimmy, as the boy split up from them to hold a car door open for Maggie, and then slip inside the vehicle himself.

Daryl reached the bike easily, securing Dean's arms around his waist like they hadn't done it a thousand times, and roared off down the road with an expressionless face. The owl was tucked into one of his belt loops, waiting until the next stop when he could attempt to feed the group with it.

He heard Dean let out a cry behind him, as the wind whipped the feathers out of his hair, and they danced up into the sky, far out of anyone's reach.

.

When they finally stopped again, a few hours down the way, they spread out.

The formation used when they stopped on the road was simple and effective. Someone was looking out at every point, while they were vulnerable and exposed, armed and alert. Daryl peered down at the map, sunshine beaming down on them all, and leaned on the bonnet of the car, roughly estimating the size of the last herd they'd seen.

"We can't keep going house to house," Rick eventually said, and he lifted his gaze up to look at Lori, who was still in the car. Daryl followed his line of vision, and frowned at the sight of Dean sitting beside Lori in the vehicle, biting his lip as he stared down at a worn comic that Glenn had snagged for him a month ago.

They couldn't. Not with Lori looking like she was about to pop, and Dean getting more and more distant, and the whole group hardening.

"Hey," Daryl said gruffly, adjusting the crossbow bolt, "While the others go wash their panties, let's hunt." Rick nodded once, already walking past him, and Daryl signalled to Jimmy that he was going hunting, "That owl didn't exactly hit the spot."

He reached a hand into the car for a moment, before heading off after Rick, to let Dean grab hold of him, and then drew back with a nod, "You leavin'?" Dean asked, and Daryl replied with a grunt, knowing that the kid would be taken care of while he was gone.

The arrangement of hunting with Rick was a relatively new one. Originally, Daryl had preferred to hunt alone, more familiar with the silence of the woods than with the footsteps of back up behind him. He had brought Jimmy along a good few times, and the kid was a good partner. He didn't talk much, something that suited Daryl, and Daryl trusted him.

He trusted Rick too, there was no question there, but it was a completely different dynamic. He was like Rick's equal, almost more when they were out in the woods, and that was a concept that Daryl was still trying to get his head around. No one had ever treated him like an equal, like he was vital or particularly useful before. But then the word ended, and everything that he thought he knew about people was crumbling around him as well.

Sometimes he found himself glad of the company, which was a thought that Daryl never thought he would have. The woods were _his_ place, the refuge that he had sought out his whole life. But the walkers had staggered into his haven, were slinking around the trees where he felt safe, and that brought changes. It brought the realisation that he could feel safe with someone else watching his back.

Then they came across the prison, and everything changed again.

.

Getting everyone in wasn't too hard. Jimmy was holding tightly to Dean, while Daryl skirted around the edge of the group, crossbow held high as he tried to cover everyone at once.

Once they were inside the fences, crunching around on grey gravel, with a real barrier between them and the walkers for the first time in a long time, Daryl let himself take a breath. Dean dragged Jimmy over to him, and grabbed at his trouser leg tightly, his other hand gripping Jimmy's.

There was a moment of hesitation, while they waited for Glenn, when they were almost reeling at the whole nature of it.

Then there was running, and just as Daryl was about to grab Dean, Jimmy scooped up the thin child and fell into step beside him, at the front of the group. It was almost like a running track, just a thin path that was rigid and straight and seemed to have more order than they'd had in weeks.

Walkers snarled and moaned at them, bodies piling up against the wire fence, but no one even flinched. The time for shying away and being afraid had long passed.

When Daryl retreated to the tower, followed by Jimmy, Dean, and Carol, there was a sense of anticipation in the air. This was what they'd been waiting for, and everything that they needed. Dean looked out through the bars, one arm dangling over the edge, as they shot at the walkers, and his face focused and intent on watching Rick run through the horde.

They were shell-shocked, when it was all over.

The group came together again in the middle of the field, and the emotion was summed up in the sound of T-Dog laughing triumphantly as he raised his arms up. Seconds later, Daryl had swung Dean up onto his shoulders as the child let out a cry of excitement, to let Dean watch from the highest spot as smiles split onto their faces.

Dean and Carl spent the afternoon playing some form of chasing game around the field, while the others began to move the bodies and Lori chatted to Carol on a picnic blanket. The scene was so rare and unique to anything that they'd had since the farm that there was no real way to describe it.

But the deeply ingrained paranoia and shadows of their broken selves still managed to shine through.

Rick stalked along the fence at times, eyes running over every potential compromise, and he could barely look at his pregnant wife. Dean flinched violently as an unexpected hand grabbed his shoulder, and ducked his head, as if expecting a blow. Jimmy's face fell at this, and he withdrew, self-loathing written all over his face due to his mistake within seconds. Maggie and Glenn stuck close together, almost too close, as if they were terrified to part for fear of losing one another.

It was quirks like this that Daryl saw, and ones that made him wish that little bit harder for something better for them all.

He didn't show the fact that he noticed, just hunched his shoulders slightly more and gripped his crossbow tighter. He hunted as well during that afternoon, alone as he was quicker by himself, and watched with hooded eyes as they gathered around the campfire.

Morale was low, despite the fact that they were in possession of a clear prison field, and the fire burned brightly.

Daryl returned to the campfire when Beth began singing a low haunting tune, and Jimmy handed a sleeping Dean over to him carefully. The boy let out a tired sigh, and snuggled his head into Daryl's dirty poncho, making him scoff quietly and smirk for a moment.

Even Rick had decided to head over to him, and he crouched carefully, staring into the flames.

The air was cold as Daryl leaned his head back, and drew a lungful of air in. It felt good, to know that they were safe again. He glanced over at Jimmy, as more of a reflex than anything, and the boy grinned over at him, stretched out in the long grass.

Rick started speaking then, and everyone seemed to brace themselves together. Tomorrow, that was when they would really lay claim to the prison, and try to do the impossible.

He looked down at Dean, asleep across his legs, and could feel all his thoughts jumbling together as he both strategized and remembered how Dean would always fall asleep that way when he was a toddler. Daryl turned his head marginally so the dark outline of the prison building was in his view, and knew in that moment that he would do anything to create a safe environment for the kid.

So he just nodded from his position slightly apart from the rest of the group, and turned his thoughts to walkers and prison layouts.

.

_I hope this was okay, guys. I didn't want to just rewrite the episode the exact same, with all the dialogue that you already know, so I think I might do it this way—writing around the episodes and zooming in on smaller things, if that's cool with you all? Let me know which you prefer._

_Thanks so much for all your comments and support, it means so much to me! I'd love to hear what you thought on this if you have time :) I'll have the next chapter up quicker this time, just it was my birthday this weekend and I was busy with school and stuff beforehand._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	22. Chapter 22

_Really late chapter… huge apologies. Hope you guys enjoy it though!_

.

Clearing the prison took time and effort.

Daryl had left Dean under the strict supervision of Jimmy, and under even stricter orders of what the two were to do should the prison prove unsafe and he didn't make it back out. Dean clung and looked up at him with tears brimming in his eyes before Daryl had pulled himself away, and began readying his crossbow.

He had nodded at Jimmy, as the teenager had lifted Dean up carefully and moved well away from the fence, and then had allowed himself one last glance at his nephew.

The gates had been pulled open then, and five of the group's strongest had slipped inside, armed to the teeth. Daryl hadn't allowed himself to think of Dean then, or of Jimmy or Carl or any of the rest of the group. The world had dissolved into the simple task of stab and repeat, dodge and evade.

"Almost there," He heard Rick say roughly, but Daryl could barely hear him. The blood was rushing in his ears, and their uniform back to back circle was so tight, more secure than anything had been in a long while. Bodies littered the ground behind them, but there were more coming. The walkers in riot gear were a challenge, but once Daryl shoved his knife up into the brain stem of one, he felt energized and _alive_.

It felt like they were all on fire with adrenaline, all snarling and fighting back against the undead. More gore than usual was splattered all over his shirt, blood coating his hands, but the crossbow was tight in his grip and his knife was just another extension of his arm.

It was simple, and he could handle it.

Inside the prison was quiet. The smell of death wasn't overwhelming inside the grey walls, but Daryl kept his eyes narrowed and alert for anything and everything. He stepped carefully over the debris scattered on the ground, and didn't let himself think about how safe they could make it.

The dank cold air was almost enough to induce a shiver, but they had blankets and they could make it warm. The cells were unappealing and yet the comfiest lodgings that he'd seen in weeks. Daryl smirked with the promise of safety, and stabbed a walker through its rotting eye.

.

Bodies were dropping over the balcony by the time the rest of the group came through.

Jimmy had Dean on his back, knife raised and wary despite the reassurance from Glenn that it was secure. He didn't lower the weapon until they saw Daryl, wiping one hand over his brow, "I ain't sleepin' in no cage," He spat out, nodding at Jimmy who raised a hand in return, "I'll take the perch."

Dean scrambled down, and ran for a hug, looking around the cell block with wide eyes. The two crouched on the perch together, Daryl allowing himself to breathe properly for the first time in hours, as he ruffled his nephew's hair.

"Can I sleep here too, Daryl?" The kid asked brightly, already setting his small backpack down, and tracing a circle in the dust on the ground, "Cause Daddy always said tha' he didn't like prisons neither, not like he liked other things cause I asked him where he went once an' he said prison an' then he said some things tha' Jimmy says are bad words." Dean's head suddenly snapped up and he bounced to his feet, "Do you think Daddy's here?! Cause this is a prison an' Daddy goes here when he's not with us an' he's not with us! Quick, Jimmy, my Daddy's he—"

Managing to grab the boy gently before he got too worked up and more than a few steps, Daryl folded Dean into his lap saying, "He's not here, kid, trust me. Merle's not here." A tear went to slip down Dean's face, but Daryl caught it before it could rolls down his cheek. "'s okay, kid, we'll find him."

After a few minutes passed, Dean sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes, "Course he's not here cause Daddy said prisons were fuckin' stupid an' tha' he weren't never comin' back. Course."

The sound of Daryl's low chuckle echoed through the cell block, followed quickly by Dean's high pitched laughter.

The cell block seemed to dissolve into silence then, as they drifted into the cells, and spent time savouring the security and thin mattresses beneath them. Dean slumped against his uncle then, exhausted, and fisted a hand in Daryl's shirt.

It was peaceful, and not even his paranoia could spoil the moment. Daryl settled down on the mattress he had dragged out, making sure Dean was covered by his rough poncho, and let out a sigh.

This felt right.

.

The next day started out with them getting kitted out. Jimmy leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Daryl prepare his crossbow, check his knife was still strapped to his leg. The others were putting bullet proof vests on, and checking ammo, an air of anticipation building up.

Beth was giggling at Carl, from where she stood with her arms wrapped around Dean's chest as the little boy leaned against her legs. She smoothed down his unruly hair, having become something of an older sister to the child in the past few months, and tried to work out the tangles with her fingers absentmindedly.

"… You could be the last man standing. I need you to handle things here," Rick was saying to Carl, ignoring the fact that Jimmy was also staying with the group. He scoffed silently at that, and wondered what made him seem so invisible beside the cracked grey walls. Whatever it was, it didn't stop Daryl from glancing over to him and rolling his eyes.

Then they were gone, and Jimmy was left with the weakest of the group. He scooped Dean up into his arms as he headed back to his cell, seeing the younger boy's lip beginning to wobble like it always did when Daryl left, "C'mon kid, we've got work to do."

Dean squirmed in his grip, and scrabbled at his arms, but Jimmy didn't let him down until they had reached his cell and grabbed one of the books sticking out of a bag. "But I don't want to read," The child whined, despite knowing their routine each day, a cheeky tone to his voice.

"Tough luck, kiddo." Jimmy replied, like he did almost every day.

Carol was waiting for them, sitting cross-legged and smiling by the time Jimmy deposited his bundle at her feet. It was she who had volunteered after a few weeks to begin teaching Dean how to read, and surprisingly, the child was picking things up quickly.

Glancing over at Carl and Beth talking closely in the corner, Jimmy turned his back on them, and settled himself on the steps, running a hand through his hair. Lori had excused herself to go lie down for a bit, and Jimmy was beginning to think that she'd had the right idea. His eyes were so heavy, having woken up at every sound the previous night, and having to stop himself from crying out when he didn't immediately feel the presence of the group beside him.

After sleeping in such close quarters, always beside each other and ready to move at a moment's notice, it had been the most surreal experience to try and sleep in an empty cell. Jimmy had hated it, in a way. Not to his surprise, no one had offered to bunk with him, so he had been alone, and completely terrified.

In the end, he had dragged his mattress to the edge of his cell, so he could look out into the darkness and see the sleeping forms of Daryl and Dean. That had offered at least a shred of comfort.

But before everyone had risen, Jimmy had placed the mattress back on the bed, and pretended that he had slept well, not wanting to seem weak. That was something that he had promised himself months ago—that he would never be weak again.

He rubbed at the stumps of his missing two fingers gently, a habit that he had yet to break, and realised with a tired smile that he could barely feel them aching anymore.

Jimmy looked over once more at Carl, with his handgun out and the safety off, and decided that things wouldn't fall apart if he let his eyes shut for a few minutes. Dean was reciting the alphabet clumsily to Carol, Lori was already in bed, and Beth looked happy.

And that meant that he was okay.

.

They burst back into the cell block in a frenzy of yelling and blood.

Hershel was bleeding out in the middle of everything, and he could hear cries and gasps, but Daryl stayed back, waiting in the adjoining room. He loaded his crossbow carefully, setting it up on one knee, and just waited silently, looking through the scope.

"That's far enough," He growled, when they finally came into view, appearing from the depts of the dark halls. Daryl moved forward when one of them pulled out a gun, lip snarling up against the crossbow aimed at them.

T-Dog appeared then, Rick following after him. And then Daryl just watched their faces. The stages of shock and unsure grief hit them hard, and while T-Dog lowered his gun, Daryl didn't relent with his aim. There was no way in hell he was letting his guard down.

A few hours later when they started lugging food into the cell block, he saw Dean, and even the sight of his nephew looking up at him with scared but alive eyes relieved some of the pressure on his chest. But then he thought again of the prisoners and the whole new deck of wildcards that had been introduced, and he scowled.

Jimmy moved to help him with some of the boxes, raising a questioning eyebrow, but not saying anything. Daryl leaned into him, one arm around Dean, and said carefully, "New prisoners—don't trust 'em. I need ya ta keep Dean close, shoot first an' don't ask questions if needs be."

The teenager took a bag of oats off him, and nodded silently, before nudging Dean and gesturing for the kid to follow him. "I'll keep him safe."

.

_So, fingers crossed that was okay. I'm finding it quite difficult to write from an episode and still keep everyone in character, while trying not to make it boring. Any comments or feedback would be hugely appreciated :) I promise it won't be as long a wait until the next chapter!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	23. Chapter 23

Dean had cried himself to sleep.

It was a sad reality that this wasn't even an odd occurrence. Jimmy sat silently on the steps leading up to the perch, cradling the child in his arms, and listened as the others watched Hershel slowly die. He stroked the boy's scruffy hair fondly, and tapped out a beat with a worn sneaker.

Daryl had gone off with Rick and T-Dog, to clear out a cell block with the prisoners. Jimmy knew nothing of them, having only Daryl's grim warning and a few scuffling sounds that he had heard to judge them by. There was a part of him that had wanted to march off with Daryl, to size up these men and to prove that he was something, prove that he could actually fight. But the other half of him was content to watch Dean, to be there for the child who'd had everything ripped away.

The others were huddled down in one of the cells, watching Hershel bleed to death.

Jimmy had caught a glance when they'd burst in with him, and he'd tried so hard to turn Dean away before he looked up, but he was too late. That's why he was camped out on the steps, having been trying to comfort a sobbing Dean.

One thing that Dean had whispered to him, in the midst of all his tears and muffled cries, stuck with Jimmy, and he let out a sigh. "_B-but I thought he – he was my new granddad… Is h-he gon' die now?"_ Jimmy hadn't been able to give him an answer, had only tried to shush him gently, not wanting to upset the others any more with the sounds of Dean's sobs.

Then there was a sharp whistle, and he glanced down to see Glenn heading out of the cell block with Carol, "Watch Hershel. I won't be long."

"But—" Jimmy scrambled to his feet, still clutching a sleeping Dean, but they were gone already. He bit his lip anxiously, a habit that he had picked up in recent weeks, and looked down at the sleeping boy with the hint of a smile, "Well, at least you're still asleep."

He made his way down to the cell carefully, Dean's head resting on his shoulder, and the rest of his skinny limbs gathered up in Jimmy's arms. There was the sound of faint sniffles when he stuck his head inside the cell, and he hovered, not sure what he should say or how he should say it, or even what he was supposed to do.

His gun felt heavy in the waistband of his jeans.

"Dean's asleep then, is he?" Lori turned to acknowledge him, with a nod at the small body he was carrying.

Jimmy nodded solemnly, "Yeah, he fell asleep a while back. And Glenn—well, I wanted to say how sorry I am for what happened. Do you—will he pull through this?" The tact was missing from his question, that much was obvious, but it was too late in the apocalypse for him to be able to function normally.

At this, Beth let out another sniff, and Jimmy shifted the child in his arms awkwardly, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing.

"Here, give him to me for a minute," Lori held out her arms with a gentle smile, and Jimmy carefully manoeuvred Dean into her motherly embrace. He woke up briefly, making a low whine in his throat, but Lori pulled him close to her and kissed the top of his head. Within seconds, Dean was asleep again.

Then the cell was silent again, as Beth and Maggie watched their father intently, Jimmy and Carl watched Beth, and Lori watched Dean.

.

Daryl squinted in the sun, looking up at the guard tower with the twist of a smile on his face. He pointed lazily to the location of two group members, "They're up in the guard tower."

"Guard tower? They were just up there last night…"

At this, Jimmy let out a choked laugh, unable to keep it in any longer. Daryl turned slightly to look at him, and the teenager grinned back, looking more alive than he had in weeks. All his worries had seemed to just drop off, and the kid looked lighter than ever. Daryl scoffed at him, glad that he had brought Jimmy out to the sun. It had been too long since he had looked happy, and Daryl appreciated all the times that he teenager had put on fake smiles for his nephew. He didn't trust Dean with just anyone—and Jimmy was always his first choice, for numerous reasons.

He watched as Jimmy hung back with T-Dog, and then turned back to let out a yell, "Glenn! Maggie!"

When the two stumbled out of the tower, Glenn with one hand holding up his trousers, they all laughed, and the sunshine seemed only to amplify their good moods. But then T-Dog frowned and stopped walking with them, and the atmosphere changed within seconds.

"Hey, Rick."

The remaining prisoners were approaching them, something that made Daryl's blood run cold, and he flung out a hand to stop Jimmy before the teenager could follow. "Don't," He muttered, and then had to stride forward again to catch up to the others.

He could still hear the footsteps behind him, but it was too late to deal with. The blonde prisoner was already yammering on about ghosts and shitty conditions, and Jimmy was standing beside him, their shoulders almost touching. Daryl took another step, to put himself between Jimmy and the others, placing his hands on his hips while the sun beat down on them all. The heat didn't feel so comforting now though, and his only consolation was that at least Dean was inside.

Rick turned slowly to glance at him then, after all the speeches and pleading were done, and Daryl simply shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimmy stiffen, but it didn't change his answer.

No.

When he got back from chaining the fence closed, the others were debating and arguing the fate of the prisoners. Jimmy just stood there, motionless, and didn't look up when Daryl tried to catch his eye.

"I get guys like this—Hell, I grew up with them. They're degenerates, but they ain't pyschos. I coulda been in there with them just as easy as I could have been out here with you guys," He spoke carefully, knowing that Jimmy's gaze was now fixed on him. It wasn't a lie, it was probably more truth than he wanted to admit.

T-Dog nodded, seeming glad to have someone on his side, "So you're with me."

"Hell no. let them take their chances out on the road like we did."

The situation continued from there, but just as they were going to tell the prisoners that the deal still stood, Daryl heard Jimmy mutter something to T-Dog. The teenager's fists were clenched, and it sounded as if he was struggling to get the words out, but he said them all the same, "You—you can't trust people any more. This—we're _not_ the same. Not the same as we were, and—it's not right to—I don't… how can you know who are the good men anymore? How can—how can you know that we're still the good ones?"

There was a beat of silence, before T-Dog clapped a hand on Jimmy's shoulder, saying, "Ah, kid, c'mon don't be talking like that, you know—"

And then Daryl was out of earshot, and forced to repress everything like usual. By the time he went back to the spot, Jimmy had retreated a few steps away, deep in thought, and T-Dog didn't seem willing to share any of the conversation.

.

Everything went to shit far too quickly.

Daryl smiled roughly at the sight of Hershel out on the crutches, with Dean laughing and skipping around him. The child waved enthusiastically at their group, and Jimmy waved back, drawing a squeal that even they could hear out of the kid.

It was the first time that Dean had been outside in days, and Daryl was only sorry that he was so far away that he couldn't quite see the smile on his kid's face.

"He is one tough son of a bitch," Glenn said in amazement, dropping the wood, and Daryl could only nod.

Jimmy let out a whoop of excitement, and yelled, "All right, Hershel!" This earned him a nudge from Daryl as he shushed him, but Glenn hi-fived the teenager, and Daryl found it hard to begrudge their happiness. God knew they needed some of that these days.

With a nod from him, Jimmy started to make his way back to the others, to where T-Dog had yelled over for his help a few minutes previously. The spare set of keys to the gate was glinting in his hand, and Daryl glanced carefully at him to make sure that he was locking the gates behind him.

For a few minutes, they all just stood there, staring at one another. Because this was one of those _wins_, that came so rarely, and even Dean was content to stay still. He clutched onto Beth's hand, and beamed at the whole group.

But then it all came crumbling down.

"Walkers!" Carl screamed, and he watched as Beth tugged Dean back so sharply that the kid stumbled, and suddenly Daryl's heart stopped. The bang of a gun, Lori's small handgun, snapped them out of it, and suddenly they were running. Rick began to yell out names, as he sprinted, but Daryl didn't dare waste any breath.

All he could do was try and run while keeping his gaze on the one person who meant more to him than anything. Daryl knew that if he paused to scream out Dean's name, he wouldn't be able to stop. Jimmy was far ahead, all the gates locked between them as per instructions, but Daryl couldn't spare a glance back for him.

The courtyard was a mess of walkers and gunshots, and suddenly he couldn't see Dean anymore.

With a howl, Daryl forced himself to tear his gaze from what looked like a massacre, and tried to run faster. He outran Rick, crossbow heavy in his grasp, and wondered if he'd ever be able to breathe again. The walkway was too long, and they weren't even close yet, and _Dean was gone._

.

Beth dragged Dean behind her as she ran for the door, hearing the child's sobs and the screams that he was making. She was practically holding him up by one arm, and it seemed like it would be a miracle if she hadn't dislocated his shoulder with the strength of her tugs, but nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Her father was following them, but he seemed slow—too slow, and all Beth wanted to do was _scream_.

But she reached the wire cage first, shoving Dean in so hard that he hit the ground, and then turning to watch her father struggle to make it in time up the steps, "Daddy, behind you!"

Hershel awkwardly smashed his crutch into the walker's face, pushing it down the steps, before swaying wearily on his one leg. She reached out wildly, grabbing the back of his shirt, and hauled him inside, feeling nothing but pure adrenaline running through her as her father braced one of the crutches across the wire gate.

Dean suddenly launched himself off the ground, seeing Daryl racing towards the courtyard, and tried to open the latch with his small fingers. She grabbed him before he could succeed, and wrapped her hand over his mouth to silence his screams, before they attracted any walkers their way.

The child thrashed and tried to bite her, his arms flailing, but Beth held on, hot tears making their way down her face.

There was no way that Daryl would ever forgive her if she let Dean run out into the carnage, and there was no way that she would ever forgive herself if she let that happen. So she slid down to the dirty ground with the boy still fighting against her, and tried not to watch, while her father stood above them and stayed silent.

.

Jimmy reached the others just as T-Dog was headed for the gate.

He stabbed his penknife into a walker with a cry, wishing desperately that he had more weapons than just the small knife. He knew that he had a handgun with three bullets left in the waistband of his jeans, but three bullets wouldn't do a lot.

So he gritted his teeth and buried the knife into another eye socket, feeling his arm grow slick with blood already, trying to get closer to Carol.

He saw the exact moment when the walker buried his teeth into T-Dog. Jimmy glanced up to see the skin tear away from the other man's shoulder with a gasp, and he suddenly tripped, falling to the ground with the dead body that he had just taken down. Carol's cry of grief seemed to cut into him like nothing ever before, and the blood that spilled from T-Dog's neck splashed down on him.

It was warm, and Jimmy roared. He had been so _close_.

Somehow he managed to scramble off the ground, and press himself into T-Dog as they stumbled towards Carol and the open door. Jimmy could feel the blood soaking through from where he had an arm around the other man, and he tried to remind himself how to put one foot in front of the other. He didn't even think he was breathing anymore.

Then the door closed behind him, and they were in darkness.

.

Alarms blared and Rick's fury was surging through them all, but Daryl spared a second to rush over to where Beth, Hershel, and Dean were, pressing his face against the wire fence.

His nephew was bawling crying; trying to get through the wire fence, but all they could do was touch foreheads, before Daryl had to pull himself away, crossbow raised to the prisoners' foreheads. _Dean was safe, Dean was safe_, his mind screamed at him, while Dean cried.

There was no time for another more than a second of relief though, and suddenly Rick and the others were running across the courtyard. Daryl hesitated for a split second, meeting Beth's eyes, and silently begging her to keep Dean safe. If his desperate expression was as obvious as it felt, she got the message.

The last image that he got of them was of Hershel bending down to put a hand on his daughter's shoulder, while she pulled the small boy even closer to her.

.

T-Dog was gasping for breath and staggering along the dark hallways, giving directions as fast as his panting would allow him to.

Supporting him as best he could, Jimmy tried to get his head around what had just happened, but all he could process was the blood soaking through his shirt at an alarming rate. Carol was jogging behind them, more in control of the situation than he was, pleading for T-Dog to slow down, "No, you should stop—please, stop!"

Jimmy tuned back in just in time to hear the other man saying with certainty clouding his tone, "This is God's plan. He'll take care of me—always has… He's going to help me lead you out of these tombs."

He then pulled himself away from Jimmy with more strength than he should have, clamped a hand over the wound, and pressed on, Carol hurrying along beside him. Jimmy followed the two adults in a state of shock, lagging behind slightly, and feeling like he was about to throw up.

He had been so close, when it had happened.

Blood was sticking to his skin, and drying on his face, and all Jimmy could do was grip the blood slicked knife tighter and struggle to keep up.

Just as they rounded a corner, deeper into the prison than he'd ever been where the lights were fading quicker, he heard moans. Carol pulled uselessly on the trigger of her gun, but she was out of ammo, and the look in her face terrified Jimmy.

He pushed himself in front of the two though, reaching back for his gun with the three bullets left, but T-Dog pulled him back.

"No—_no_!" Jimmy wasn't sure who was shouting, but he could feel his heart constricting with fear as the man shoved him back into Carol, and staggered forward with a burst of speed.

Then T-Dog was shouting for them to _go_, and Carol's hand was gripping his arm and dragging him along. She didn't stop when they passed the walkers ripping into their friend, and all Jimmy could do was wrench his head back to stare at T-Dog being eaten alive.

The screams echoed around the hall.

Carol yanked him back to reality, and Jimmy let his breath go in a sigh as light exploded around them.

.

They found him while walkers were still feasting on the body. Daryl knew that it was him, because even though half of his face had been ripped away, it was enough. He knew it was him because he had been the one to bring the man back the shoes that he was still wearing.

He knew it was him because he had fought beside the man for months, and he just _knew_.

Daryl reached down to pick up the scarf, holding it up into the light to be sure. He held it gently, looking down at the body to be sure that there wasn't another hiding underneath it.

There wasn't.

By the time they made their way back into the courtyard, and Dean threw himself into Daryl's arms, he didn't think that he had much strength left. Dean's head was pressed into his neck, and he was shaking, digging his fists into Daryl's shirt.

He met Beth's gaze, and nodded gratefully at her, unable to say in words how much he thankful he was for her. Hershel's words brought him back to attention, "What about T? Carol? Jimmy?"

"They didn't make it."

.

Dean was screaming silently, clinging onto Daryl like the world had ended while his uncle stood as still as a statue. Maggie was struggling to find words, holding the baby as she choked out syllables. Carl was standing there, staring at nothing. Rick was falling apart; collapsing onto the ground like someone had cut all his ties to the world.

The rest were just left, the sun beating down on them, wallowing in everything that was wrong.

.

_I hope this chapter was okay. I've been slower than usual with the update because I wanted to see how the season played out, and how things went. Let me know if there's any scenes in particular that you want me to write Dean or Jimmy into, or focus on in this story. I'd love to hear any comments or feedback that you guys have :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


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